yBRARY .  j 

KMIUCPQITY  nfl^R 


CALIFORN 

SAN  DIEGC 


WITH  HANDS  LIGHTLY  FOLDED  IN  HER  LAP  AND  HEAD  LEANED  BACK  AGAINST 
HER  CHAIR,  NATALIE  HAS  LISTENED.  IN  THE  BEGINNING  SHE  HAD  BEEN  CARRIED 
OUT  OF  HERSELF  BY  A  FEELING  OF  PAINFULLY  SWEET  HAPPINESS,  BUT  NOW  Shii  FELT 
STRANGELY  OPPRESSED. 


ASBEIN 


FROM  THE  LIFE  OF  A  VIRTUOSO 


BY 

OSSIP    SCHUBIN 


TRANSLATED  BY  ELISE  L.  LATHROP 


ff 


NEW   YORK 

WORTHINGTON    CO.,  747   BROADWAY 
1890 


COPYRIGHT,  1890,  BY 
WORTHINGTON   CO. 


Press  of  J.J.  Little  &  Co., 
Astor  Place,  New  York. 


ASBEIN. 


FIRST   BOOK. 

"  BUT — do  you  really  not  recognize  me  ?" 
With  these  words,  and  with  friendly,  out- 
stretched hands,  a  young  lady  hastened 
toward  a  man  who,  with  gloomily  con- 
tracted brow,  wrapped  in  thought,  went  on 
his  way  without  noticing  either  her  or  his 
surroundings.  He  was  foolish,  for  his  sur- 
roundings were  picturesque — Rome,  near 
the  Fontana  di  Trevi,  on  a  bright  March 

*  When  the  Devil,  banished  from  heaven,  resolved  on 
the  temptation  of  mankind,  he  loved  to  make  use  of 
music  which  had  been  made  known  to  him  as  a  heavenly 
privilege  when  he  still  was  a  member  of  the  eternal  hosts. 
But  the  Almighty  deprived  him  of  his  memory,  so  he  could 
remember  but  a  single  strain,  and  this  mysterious,  be- 
witching strain  is  still  called  in  Arabia  "  The  Devil's 
Strain — Asbein. " — Aral/ion  Legends. 


4  Asbe'tn. 

afternoon.     And  the  young  lady — she  was 
charming. 

Although  she  had  called  to  him  in 
French,  something  about  her — one  could 
scarcely  have  told  what — betrayed  the  Rus- 
sian ;  everything,  the  pampered  woman 
from  the  highest  circles  of  society. 

The  young  man  whose  attention  she  had 
sought  to  attract  in  such  a  violent  and 
unconventional  manner  was  just  as  evi- 
dently a  Russian,  but  of  quite  a  different 
condition.  One  could  hardly  decide  to 
what  fixed  sphere  of  society  he  belonged, 
but  one  perceived  immediately  that  his 
manners  had  never  been  improved,  pol- 
ished, softened  by  society  discipline,  that 
he  was  no  man  of  the  world.  He  was,  evi- 
dently, a  man  who  was  apart  from  the  rank 
and  file,  a  man  who  stood  far  out  from  the 
conventional  frame,  a  man  whom  no  one 
could  pass  without  twice  looking  after  him. 
His  form  was  large  and  somewhat  heavy ; 
his  face,  framed  by  dark,  half-curled  hair,  in 
spite  of  the  blunt  profile,  reminded  one  of 


Asbein.  5 

Napoleon  Bonaparte,  but  Bonaparte  in  the 
first  romantic  period  of  his  life,  before  he 
had  become  fat  and  accustomed  to  pose  for 
the  classic  head  of  Caesar. 

She  was  the  Princess  Natalie  Alexandrov- 
na  Assanow ;  he  the  feted  violin  virtuoso 
and  well-known  composer,  Boris  Lensky. 

She  had  run  herself  quite  out  of  breath 
to  catch  up  with  him  ;  twice  she  had  called 
to  him  before  he  heard  her;  then  he  looked 
around  and  lifted  his  hat. 

"  Boris  Nikolaivitch,  do  you  not  really 
recognize  me  ?  "  said  she,  now  in  Russian, 
laughing  and  breathless. 

"  You  here,  Princess  !  Since  when  ? 
Why  have  you  given  me  no  sign  of  your 
existence  ? "  and  he  took  both  the  slender 
girlish  hands,  still  outstretched  to  him,  in 
his. 

"We  only  arrived  here  yesterday  from 
Naples." 

"  Ah  !  and  I  go  there  to-day."  His  long- 
drawn  words  betrayed  very  significantly  a 
certain  vexation. 


6  Asbein. 

"Yes,  to  give  three  concerts  there.  I 
know ;  it  was  in  the  newspapers,"  she  nod- 
ded earnestly,  and  sighed. 

"  Hm !  "  he  began  ;  "  then — "  he  hesi- 
tated. 

"  Then  you  do  not  understand  why  I  did 
not  wait  for  the  concerts?"  said  she,  gayly  ; 
"  it  was  impossible." 

"  Impossible?"  said  he  with  a  short,  de- 
fiant motion  of  the  head,  the  motion  of  a 
too-tightly  checked  race-horse  who  impa- 
tiently jerks  at  the  bridle.  "  How  so  impos- 
sible ?  What  word  is  that  from  the  mouth 
of  a  young  lady  who  has  nothing  else  in 
the  world  to  do  but  amuse  herself?" 

"  As  if  I  were  independent !  "  she  sighed, 
with  comic  despair.  "  First,  mamma  could 
not  leave  Naples — hm — for  family  reasons. 
My  sister  is  married  there,  you  know. 
Then — then ' 

"  Do  not  trouble  yourself  with  polite  ex- 
cuses," he  interrupted  her.  "  I  see  that 
you  are  no  longer  interested  in  my  music  ;" 
and,  half-jesting,  half-vexed,  shrugging  his 


Asbe'tn.  7 

shoulders,  he  added,  "  What  of  it  ?  One 
must  put  up  with  one's  destiny!" 

"  I  am  no  longer  interested  in  your 
music  !  "  said  she,  angrily  ;  "  and  you  vent- 
ure to  say  that  to  me,  even  after  I  have 
run  after  you — yes,  really  run  after  you, 
which  is  not  proper — only  to — 

She  stopped,  her  face  wore  a  vexed,  in- 
dignant expression.  "  Why  did  you  do 
it  ? "  said  he,  roughly ;  "  it  is  not  becom- 
ing." 

Instead  of  losing  her  self-possession,  she 
laughed  heartily.  "  But,  Boris  Nikolaivitch," 
said  she,  "  you  speak  as  if  you  were  a  true 
man  of  the  world.  However,  as  you  please, 
I  thank  you  for  the  lecture.  Adieu !  " 

And  nodding  her  head  quite  arrogantly, 
she  was  about  to  turn  on  her  heel,  when  her 
look  met  his.  She  saw  that  she  had  vexed 
him,  remained  standing,  blushed,  and  low- 
ered her  eyes. 

The  waters  of  the  Acqua  Nigo  foamed  and 
sparkled  gayly  between  the  edges  of  the 
stone  basin  which  Nicolo  Salvi  had  made 


8  Asbe'in. 

for  them  ;  the  noonday  church-bells  mingled 
their  deep,  solemn  voices  with  the  caress- 
ing rippling  of  the  waves  ;  the  sun  shone 
full  from  the  deep-blue,  ice-cold  heaven,  a 
glaring,  unpleasant  March  sun,  which  was 
light  without  warming,  like  the  condescend- 
ing smile  of  a  great  man,  and  Natalie's 
maid  who,  grumbling  and  bored,  stood  a 
step  behind  her  young  mistress,  opened  a 
round,  green  fan  to  shield  her  eyes,  and  at 
the  same  time  stamped  her  feet  from  the 
cold.  Around,  the  Roman  life  went  on  in 
its  usual  lazy  way.  Before  a  small,  loaded 
cart  stood  a  mule  with  a  number  of  red  and 
blue  tassels  about  its  ears  and  on  its  fore- 
head hung  a  brass  image  of  the  Virgin.  In 
the  door  of  a  vegetable  shop,  from  which 
came  a  strong  smell  of  herbs,  crouched  a 
black-eyed,  white  Spitz  dog,  that  twitched 
its  right  ear  uneasily.  A  fat,  smooth-headed 
Capuchin  passed  by,  then  came  two  shab- 
bily dressed  young  people.  The  Capuchin 
stopped  to  scratch  the  mule's  head,  the 
young  people  nudged  each  other,  and  said 


Asbe'in.  9 

in  an  undertone,  while  they  pointed  to  the 
virtuoso  :  "  E  Borisso  Lensky." 

"  There  you  have  it,"  said  the  princess, 
shaking  off  her  vexation  with  a  charming, 
pleasant  smile,  and  her  head  bent  one  side. 
"Great  man  that  you  are,  and  still  you  take 
it  amiss  in  me."  She  said  nothing  more, 
only  raised  her  great  blue  eyes  and  gave 
him  a  look,  a  never-to-be-forgotten  look, 
behind  whose  roguishness  a  riddle  was  con- 
cealed. 

"  I  take  nothing  amiss  in  you,"  said  he, 
earnestly. 

•"  Really  nothing?  Now,  then,  I  can  tell 
you  how  much,  oh!  how  much,  I  have 
longed  to  hear  you  play  again,  that  I,  coAte 
quit  codte,  seized  the  opportunity  to  ask 
you  to  stop  in  Rome  on  your  return  from 
Naples  only  to —  She  hesitated,  as  if  she 
were  suddenly  afraid  of  being  indiscreet. 

"  Only  to  play  something  for  the  Princess 
Natalie  Alexandrovna  Assanow,"  he  com- 
pleted her  sentence,  laughing.  "  Good. 
I  will  come,  Natalie  Alexandrovna ;  in  two 


io  Asbein. 

weeks  I  am  there.  But  if  you  are  then  in 
Florence  or  Nice " 

She  was  about  to  make  a  very  positive  as- 
sertion, when  a  slender,  fashionably  dressed 
man,  with  a  very  high  hat  and  fault- 
less gloves,  passed  by  them,  greeted  the 
princess  respectfully,  and,  with  a  slight 
squint,  measured  Lensky  from  head  to  foot. 
Lensky  recognized  in  him  an  officer  of  the 
guard,  Count  Konstantin  Paulovitch  Pacho- 
tin,  and  remembered  last  winter,  during  the 
season  in  St.  Petersburg,  he  paid  court  to 
Natalie.  The  scrutinizing  look  of  the  young 
man  vexed  him  beyond  bounds  ;  everything 
looked  red  before  him.  "  Ah  !  he  here  ?  " 
he  asked  the  young  princess  with  mocking 
emphasis.  "  May  one  congratulate  you  ?  " 

She  frowned  and  turned  away  her  head. 
"  No  !  "  murmured  she.  Then  raising  her 
wonderful  eyes  to  him  again  :  "  So,  farewell 
for  two  weeks  !  " 

"  Perhaps." 

"  Say  positively,  I  beg  you,  and  throw 
the  traditional  soldo  in  the  fountain." 


Asbetn.  11 

"  With  the  best  of  intentions,  I  cannot  do 
that ;  I  have  none  with  me,"  he  laughed, 
now  involuntarily. 

She  was  charming.  She  wore  a  brown 
velvet  bonnet  that  was  fastened  under  the 
chin  with  broad  ribbons.  She  had  pushed 
back  her  veil,  and  the  transparent  brown 
gauze  shining  in  the  sun  formed  a  golden 
background  for  her  pretty,  pale  face.  It 
was  cold,  although  the  beginning  of  March, 
and  therefore  her  tall  figure  was  wrapped  to 
the  feet  in  a  sable-trimmed  velvet  cloak, 
beneath  which  a  scarcely  visible  silk  dress 
rustled  very  melodramatically.  A  delicate 
perfume  of  amber  and  fresh  violets  exhaled 
from  her. 

"  You  have  no  soldo  ?  "  said  she  ;  "  then  I 
will  lend  you  one."  She  earnestly  sought 
in  her  portemonnaie,  whereupon  she  hand- 
ed him  the  coin.  He  threw  it  in  the  basin 
of  the  noisy,  rippling  Fontana  di  Trevi.  The 
water  sparkled  golden  for  a  moment,  when 
the  coin  sank,  and  tried  to  form  circles,  but 
the  spouting  gayety  of  the  cascade  obliter- 
ated them. 


12  Asbein. 


"You  will  come  !  "  said  Natalie,  laughing 
gayly. 

"  Yes,  I  will  come,"  said  he,  not  gayly 
as  she,  but  gloomily,  even  grumbling. 
"  But  if  you  are  not  there,"  he  added, 
«  or " 

She  had  already  turned  to  go,  and  with- 
out replying  anything  to  his  last  words,  she 
called  to  him  over  her  shoulder  : 

"  Via  Giulia  Palazzo  Morsini!  " 

He  looked  after  her  for  a  long  time. 
The  fashionable  dress  at  that  time  was 
very  ugly.  This  little  scene  took  place  in 
the  fifties,  when  the  Empress  Eugenie  had 
again  brought  into  favor  the  hoop-skirt 
which  had  disappeared  quite  a  half-century 
before.  But  still  Natalie  Alexandrovna 
was  charming.  How  peculiar  her  walk  was, 
so  light  and  still  a  little  dragging,  dreamily 
gliding,  withal  not  weary,  but  with  a  pe- 
culiar certain  characteristic  rhythm.  He 
thoughtfully  hummed  a  melody  to  it. 

Yes,  he  would  come  back.  Whether  he 
would  have  come  back  if  the  glance  of  the 


Afsbe'in.  1 3 

officer  of  the  guard  had  not  angered  him  ? 
He  must  see,  must  teach  this  dandy  ! 

"  You  speak  just  as  if  you  were  a  true  man 
of  the  world,"  the  princess  had  replied  to 
his — as  he  angrily  told  himself — highly  un- 
suitable and  tasteless  advice.  Now  it  might 
perhaps  be  small ;  yes,  certainly  it  was  small, 
but  sometimes,  sometimes  he  would  secret- 
ly have  preferred  to  be  a  true  man  of  the 
world  instead  of  being — a  celebrity. 

"  She  ran  after  me  !  "  he  said  to  himself 
again.  "  Why  did  she  run  after  me  ?  It  was 
charming  in  her — she  would  not  have  done 
it  for  any  one  else !  Bah  !  She  is  still  only 
like  all  the  others  ! "  And  the  great  artist, 
whose  life  resembled  a  continual  triumphal 
procession,  of  whom  already  a  finger-thick 
biography  with  glaringly  false  dates  had  ap- 
peared, and  concerning  whom  the  papers 
every  day  reported  something  remarkable, 
suddenly  felt  a  kind  of  envy  of  Count  Kon- 
stantin  Paulovitch  Pachotin,  a  St.  Peters- 
burg dandy,  whose  name  had  never  been  in 


14  Asbetn. 

the  papers,  and  whom    he  despised  for  his 
narrow-mindedness. 

He  was  a  great  genius,  but,  like  many 
other  great  geniuses,  he  was  of  quite  obscure 
parentage.  Some  asserted  he  came  from 
that  horrible  citadel  of  the  poor  in  Moscow 
where  misery  intrenches  itself  against  prog- 
ress, in  filth,  stupidity,  and  vice ;  others 
said  he  had  been  found,  a  scarcely  week-old 
child,  wrapped  in  rags,  before  the  door  of 
the  Conservatory  in  St.  Petersburg.  There 
were  really  all  kinds  of  accounts  in  the  pa- 
pers. This  one  said  that  he  was  the  son  of 
a  princess  of  the  blood  and  a  gypsy ;  that 
one,  that  he  descended  from  an  old  princely 
family  of  the  Czechs,  and  many  other  such 
romantic  inventions.  He  shrugged  his 
shoulders  scornfully  at  all  such  improvisa- 
tions, without  refuting  them  by  accurate 
personal  accounts.  How  did  the  cold,  hun- 
gry, maltreated  sadness  of  his  first  youth 
concern  the  world  ?  Now  he  was  Boris 
Lensky,  one  of  the  first  musicians  of  his 
time.  Everything  else  could  be  indifferent 


Asbein.  15 

to  the  man.  .It  was  indifferent  to  them  ;  it 
was  quite  indifferent  to  them  all,  only  not 
to  him.  The  wounds  which  the  tormenting 
martyrdom  of  his  childhood  had  torn  in  his 
heart  had  never  quite  healed  ;  therefore  he 
showed  a  sensitiveness  and  irritability  which 
even  the  most  sympathetic  person  could 
scarcely  comprehend. 

But  now  he  fared  very  well  in  the  world. 
No  one  was  so  pampered,  so  caressed  as 
he. 

His  playing  exercised  such  a  penetrating, 
sense-ensnaring  charm  that  his  listeners, 
transported  in  a  kind  of  musical  intoxica- 
tion, lost  their  capability  of  judging,  and 
even  the  most  well-bred  women  crowded 
around  him  with  allegiance  so  exaggerated 
that  it  tore  down  the  boundary  of  every 
customary  demeanor. 

Another  would  have  enjoyed  this  alle- 
giance without  thinking  further  of  it ;  but 
for  Lensky,  on  the  contrary,  it  had  a  repel- 
lent effect.  Child  of  the  people  to  the 
finger-tips,  totally  unused  to  the  customs  of 


1 6  Asbe'tn. 

fashionable  circles,  his  feeling  of  propriety 
was  as  wounded  by  what  he  plainly  called 
insolent  shamelessness  as  that  of  a  peasant 
who  for  the  first  time  sees  a  woman  with 
bare  shoulders. 

Besides  his  sense  of  propriety,  there  was 
another  that  was  wounded  by  the  lack  of 
reserve  which  great  ladies  showed  him,  and 
that  was  his  pride.  Not  only  gifted  with 
musical  genius,  but  with  a  very  clear  head, 
he  soon  perceived  that  if  the  ladies  of  the 
great  world  permitted  themselves  freer 
manners  with  him  than  did  women  of  a 
more  modest  sphere  of  life,  they  still  took 
liberties  with  him  of  which  they  would  have 
been  ashamed  in  association  with  compan- 
ions of  their  own  rank.  "  Mon  dieu,  avec  un 
virtuose,  cela  ne  tire  pas  h  consequence"  he 
once  heard  an  elegant  little  St.  Petersburg 
woman  say.  He  never  forgot  the  words,  and 
in  consequence  received  all  the  feminine  alle- 
giance of  good  society  with  hostile  distrust. 

He  usually  excused  the  tactless  exuber- 
ance of  a  poorly  cared  for,  badly  brought 


Asbein.  17 

up  woman  of  the  Conservatory.  In  society 
of  this  kind,  of  saddened  womanly  exist- 
ence, incessantly  touched  with  pity,  he 
showed  kindness  to  the  sad  enthusiasts 
wherever  he  could,  and  laughed  at  their 
tasteless  animation.  But  for  the  great  la- 
dies, who  should  have  known  better,  who 
thought  that  they  alone  held  the  monop- 
oly of  good  form,  and  who  still  pursued  a 
man  like  wild  beasts — for  these  he  had  no 
consideration.  His  roughness  in  inter- 
course with  them  had  become  almost  as 
proverbial  as  the  success  which  he  attained 
with  them. 

Still,  in  his  home  he  quite  unconsciously 
accustomed  himself  to  an  aristocratic  atmos- 
phere, and,  with  the  refined  sense  of  a  true 
artist  nature,  susceptible  to  all  beauty  and 
distinction,  in  association  with  great  ladies 
he  felt  a  mixture  of  irritation  and  pleasure, 
while  pleasure  gradually  won  the  upper 
hand ;  and  in  foreign  countries,  where  he 
was  received  only  exceptionally  and  with 
official  solemnity,  and  really  had  intimate 


1 8  Asbe'tn. 

access  to  salons  of  the  second  rank  only,  he 
renounced  intercourse  with  that  refined 
world  which  he  abused,  like  so  many  others, 
without  being  able  to  escape  its  perfidious 
charm,  and  felt,  every  time  that  he  met  one 
of  his  despised  pretty  St.  Petersburg  or 
Moscow  enthusiasts,  an  unmistakable  joy. 

Two  weeks  after  his  meeting  with  Natalie 
at  the  Fontana  di  Trevi,  Lensky  appeared 
for  the  first  time  in  the  Palazzo  Morsini. 
From  a  very  large  staircase,  whose  beauties 
he  must  admire  by  the  light  of  the  wax 
matches  which  he  had  brought  in  his 
pocket,  he  stumbled  into  a  large  vesti- 
bule, from  which  the  servant  conducted 
him  through  a  heavy  portiere,  painted 
with  coats  of  arms  as  high  as  a  man,  into 
an  immense  drawing-room  with  soiled  and 
faded  yellow  damask  hangings  and  furni- 
ture. 

"  Monsieur  Lensky!  "  announced  the  ser- 
vant. 

The  virtuoso  was  accustomed  to  a  uni- 
versal exclamation  following  the  announce- 


Asbe'tn.  19 

ment  of  his  name,  and  the  looks  of  the 
whole  assembly  should  be  directed  to 
him. 

Nothing  of  the  sort  this  time.  Natalie 
sat  near  an  old  French  lady,  Marquise  de 
C.,  whose  knitting  she  kindly  helped  to  ar- 
range, and  as  the  young  Russian  introduced 
the  virtuoso  to  her,  she  raised  her  lorgnette 
and  said  :  "  Monsieur Lensky — ah  \vraiment, 
that  is  very  interesting !  "  whereupon,  with- 
out further  troubling  herself  about  him,  she 
continued  to  speak  to  Natalie  of  all  kinds 
of  social  affairs,  the  marriage  of  Marie  X., 
the  debts  of  Alexander  T.,  the  trousseau  of 
Aurelie  Z.,  and  the  boldness  of  that  par- 
venu A. 

For  the  present  he  could  not  approach 
the  hostess.  She  warded  him  off  with  a 
nod  from  the  distance,  for  she  was  engaged 
in  a  very  exciting  occupation.  Although 
the  universal  interest  for  spiritualistic  table- 
tapping  and  moving  was  already  quite  over, 
the  repetition  of  this  experiment,  which 
strangely  enough  often  succeeded  in  the 


2O  Asbein. 

Palazzo  Morsini,  was  one  of  the  favorite 
pastimes  of  Natalie's  mother,  the  Princess 
Irina  Dimitrievna  Assanow.  She  now  sat 
at  a  table  in  the  middle  of  the  drawing-room 
between  many  others,  most  of  them  old 
Russians,  men  and  women  ;  opposite  her  a 
thin,  very  young  man  with  long,  straight, 
blond  hair,  a  well-known  magnetizer. 

It  seemed  to  Lensky  as  if  he  had  never 
seen  anything  more  laughable  than  these 
half-dozen  almost  exclusively  gray-haired 
people  who  sat  with  solemn  bearing  and  at- 
tentive faces  around  a  table  whose  edge 
they  could  just  surround  with  hands 
stretched  out  as  far  as  possible. 

Those  present  who  did  not  directly  par- 
ticipate in  the  attempt  to  bewitch  the  table, 
stood  around  observing  the  interesting 
round  surface. 

But  the  table  continued  in  a  state  of  des- 
perately exciting  passivity. 

Lensky,  usually  specially  invited  to  soi- 
r£es,  of  which  he  formed  the  centre  of  attrac- 
tion, felt  humiliated  by  the  four-legged 


Asbe'in.  21 

wooden  rival,  who,  to-day,  took  all  the  at- 
tention away  from  him. 

At  last  the  old  French  woman  turned  to 
the  observation  of  the  table,  which  permit- 
ted the  young  girl  to  devote  herself  a  little 
to  Lensky,  rapidly  becoming  more  gloomy  ; 
then  the  door  opened  and  the  butler  an- 
nounced Count  Pachotin.  The  virtuoso 
felt  not  at  all  pleasantly  toward  the  young 
dandy  when  he  asked  him  unusually  kindly 
and  sympathetically  whether  he  was  con- 
tented with  the  result  of  his  last  concert 
tour. 

After  Pachotin  had  fulfilled  the  conde- 
scension, which  as  a  finely  cultivated  noble- 
man he  thought  he  owed  to  an  artistic  star 
he  turned  to  Natalie  and  from  then  ignored 
Lensky  as  completely  as  the  Marquise  de 
C.  had  done.  Lensky  meanwhile  morosely 
pulled  long  horse-hairs  from  the  holes  in 
the  thread-bare  arms  of  the  damask  chair. 
He  was  very  helpless  in  spite  of  his  already 
great  renown.  His  actions  in  society  were 
solely  confined  to  playing  and  permitting 


22  Asbe'in. 

the  ladies  to  rave  over  him.  He  did  not 
understand  how  to  take  an  inconspicuous 
part  in  the  conversation,  and  to  cross  the 
room  for  any  other  purpose  than  to  take 
up  his  violin  made  him  quite  giddy. 

The  table  meanwhile  still  refused  to 
move.  The  excitement  became  general. 

"  Voyons,  M.  Lensky,"  called  the  Marquise 
de  C.,  suddenly  turning  to  the  young  artist, 
lorgnette  at  her  eyes  ;  "  if  you  should  give 
us  a  little  music  perhaps  it  would  act  upon 
the  legs  of  this  stiff-necked  table." 

A  man  quick  at  repartee  would  have  an- 
swered the  silly  remark  with  a  gay  jest. 
But  Lensky  grew  deathly  pale,  sprang  up ; 
in  that  moment  the  resisting  sacrifice  of 
magnetism  began  to  totter  and  tremble. 

Even  Pachotin  left  his  place  near  Natalie 
in  order  to  watch  closely  the  interesting 
spectacle.  The  magnetizers  rose  and,  with 
earnest,  triumphant  faces,  accompanied  the 
table,  which  now  seemed  to  have  entered 
into  the  spirit  of  the  affair  and  took  the 
most  remarkable  steps  with  its  wooden  legs. 


CANNOT   LET   YOU    GO   AWAY    ANGKY,      SA1O   SHE. 


23. 


Asfrem.  23 

"  Vous  partez  ddjb,  ? "  asked  Natalie, 
coming  up  to  the  virtuoso. 

"  I  am  no  longer  needed,"  said  Lensky, 
with  a  glance  at  the  table,  and  bowed  with- 
out touching  the  outstretched  hand  of  the 
young  girl. 

Without,  in  the  vestibule  just  as  he  was 
about  to  put  his  arms  in  the  overcoat  which 
the  servant  held  out  to  him,  he  saw  the 
princess,  who  had  hastened  after  him. 

"  I  cannot  let  you  go  away  angry,"  said 
she.  "  Come  to-morrow  to  lunch.  We 
never  receive  in  the  morning,  but  you  will 
be  welcome." 

This  time  he  took  her  hand  in  his,  and 
looked  in  her  eyes  with  a  peculiar  mixture 
of  anger  and  tenderness. 

"  You  know  I  do  everything  that  you 
wish,"  murmured  he  ;  "  but — 

"  Well  ?  "  She  smiled  pleasantly  and  en- 
couragingly. He  turned  away  his  head 
and  went. 

"  Perhaps  in  reality  she  is  only  like  the 
others,  but  still  she  is  bewitching ! "  he 


24  Asbcin. 

murmured,   as  he  stumbled  down    the  old 
marble  steps  of  the  palace  in  the  darkness. 

Yes,  she  was  bewitching.  Many  still  re- 
member how  charming  she  was  at  that 
time.  She  was  from  Moscow,  and  a  true 
Moscow  woman ;  that  is  to  say,  deeper, 
more  polished,  more  intellectual,  than  the 
average  St.  Petersburg  woman,  whom  a  pert 
Frenchman  has  described  as  "  Parisiennes  & 
la  sauce  tartare."  Lensky  had  met  her  the 
former  year  at  her  relatives'  in  Petersburg, 
where  they  had  sent  her  for  the  ball  season, 
perhaps  with  the  idea  that  she  would  make 
a  good  match. 

Her  domestic  circumstances  were  quite 
disturbed.  Her  mother,  a  former  beauty, 
and  who  in  her  youth  had  been  much  ad- 
mired at  the  court  of  Alexander  I.,  could 
not  adapt  herself  to  her  poverty — that  is 
to  say,  she  absolutely  could  not  exist  on 
the  very  moderate  remains  of  a  splendid 
property  which  her  husband  had  squan- 
dered. She  never  complained ;  she  only 


Asbc'in.  2$ 

never  kept  within  her  means.  She  was 
always  planning  new  reforms,  but  her  most 
saving  plans  always  proved  costly  when 
carried  out. 

When  she  summoned  Natalie  home  from 
St.  Petersburg  the  former  May  she  had  just 
formed  a  quite  special  resolution  :  she 
would  travel  to  a  foreign  country,  in  order, 
as  she  expressed  it,  to  be  unconstrainedly 
shabby  and  economical.  Her  unconstrained 
shabbiness  in  Rome  consisted  in  living  in  a 
very  picturesque  palazzo  with  two  maids 
brought  with  her  from  Russia,  a  male  fac- 
totum, and  a  number  of  Italian  assistants ; 
by  day,  clad  in  a  faded  sky-blue  peignoir, 
stretched  on  a  lounge,  alternately  reading 
French  novels  and  playing  patience  ;  in  the 
evening,  receiving  an  amusing  assembly  of 
gens  du  monde  and  celebrities,  among  whom 
the  already  mentioned  magnetizer  enjoyed 
her  especial  sympathy,  at  dinner  or  tea. 
Her  economy  culminated  in  locking  up  the 
most  trifling  articles  with  great  punctilious- 
ness and  never  being  able  to  find  the  keys ; 


26  Asbein. 

for  which  reason  the  locksmith  must  be  fre- 
quently summoned. 

The  Russian  maids  naturally  never  moved 
their  hands,  the  Italian  assistants  wiped  the 
dust  from  one  piece  of  furniture  to  another, 
and  so  the  household  would  really  have 
made  quite  an  impression  of  having  come 
down  in  the  world  if  the  butler,  whom 
they  had  brought  with  them  had  not  saved 
it  by  his  aristocratic  prestige.  A  French- 
man and  valet  of  the  deceased  prince,  Mon- 
sieur Baptiste  was  not  only  outwardly  deco- 
rative, but  of  a  useful  nature.  His  principal 
occupation  consisted  in  sitting  in  the  vesti- 
bule, with  finely-shaved  upper  lip  and  im- 
posing side-whiskers,  intrenched  behind  a 
newspaper,  and  overpowering  the  creditors 
if  they  ventured  to  present  their  unpaid 
bills. 

Lensky  had  resolved  to  leave  Rome  the 
next  day,  and  to  ignore  the  invitation  of 
the  princess.  Returned  to  the  hotel,  he 
immediately  set  about  packing ;  that  is  to 


Asbein.  27 

say,  he  in  all  haste  wrapped  and  squeezed 
his  effects  together  in  any  manner  and 
threw  them  in  his  trunk  as  one  throws  pota- 
toes in  a  sack.  Then  he  ordered  his  bill 
from  the  waiter  and  a  carriage  for  the  next 
morning.  When  the  waiter  at  the  ap- 
pointed hour  presented  the  bill  and  an- 
nounced the  carriage  he  showed  him  out. 
From  ten  o'clock  on  he  drew  out  his  chro- 
nometer every  quarter  of  an  hour ;  at 
twelve  he  appeared  in  the  Palazzo  Mor- 
sini. 

"  You  are  punctual,"  said  the  princess, 
stretching  out  her  hand  to  him  ;  "  that  is 
nice  of  you.  I  was  terribly  afraid  that  you 
would  not  come.  We  are  quite  among 
ourselves  ;  only  mamma  and  we  two.  Does 
that  suit  you  ?  " 

Again  she  bent  her  head  to  one  side  and 
looked  at  him  with  that  peculiar  glance, 
behind  whose  roguishness  a  riddle  was  con- 
cealed. What  was  it  ?  Something  sweet, 
perhaps  something  tender,  earnest — or  only 
a  gay  triumph  or  planned  conquest  ? 


28  Asbe'in. 

Meanwhile  it  cost  him  the  greatest  self- 
restraint  not  to  fall  at  her  feet  immediately, 
so  charming  and  beautiful  was  she.  Every- 
thing about  her  was  beautiful  :  her  tall 
but  beautifully  rounded  figure ;  her  pale 
oval  face,  framed  in  dark  hair ;  her  remark- 
able eyes,  usually  dreamily  half  closed,  and 
then  suddenly  looking  at  one  so  large  and 
full  ;  her  long  small  hands  and  her  little 
feet.  No  Andalusian  had  a  smaller,  slen- 
derer, more  finely-arched  foot  than  Natalie. 
He  had  scarcely  time  to  reply  to  her  amia- 
bility, when  the  butler  announced  that 
luncheon  was  served,  and  they  went  into 
the  dining-room. 

It  was  a  peculiar  luncheon.  The  old 
princess  presided  in  a  wrapper.  The  luke- 
warm dishes — brought  every  day  from  a 
restaurant  in  a  tin  box,  which  Lensky  had 
met  on  the  steps — were  served  by  Monsieur 
Baptiste  on  the  largely  shattered  remnants 
of  a  Florentine  faience  service  with  notice- 
able correctness.  A  broad  golden  sunbeam 
lay  on  the  table  between  Lensky  and  Nata- 


Asbe'in.  29 

lie  and  gave  the  most  extravagantly  unsuit- 
able colors  to  the  flowers  which  shed  their 
fragrance  from  a  low  Japanese  porcelain 
bowl  in  the  middle  of  the  table,  and  over 
these  flowers,  sparkling  like  diamonds,  he 
looked  at  her. 

She  ate  little  and  talked  a  great  deal, 
told  all  kinds  of  droll  stories  ;  one  witty  an- 
ecdote followed  the  other.  He  could  not 
weary  of  listening  to  her.  Yes,  even  if  what 
she  said  had  not  interested  him,  he  would 
not  tire  of  hearing  her.  The  sweet,  some- 
what veiled  tone  of  her  voice  seemed  like  a 
caress  to  his  sensitive  ear. 

"  I  would  like  to  ask  you  something,  Boris 
Nikolaivitch,"  said  the  old  princess  later, 
while  they  were  taking  coffee,  in  the  draw- 
ing-room. 

"  I  am  at  your  disposition  entirely,  Prin- 
cess," Lensky  hastened  to  assure  her. 

"  It  is  about  my  violins,"  she  began,  in  a 
drawling,  whining  voice,  which  was  her 
manner,  and  meant  nothing. 


3O  Asbe'in. 

"  But,  mamma,"  Natalie  hastily  interrupt- 
ed her,  "  this  is  not  the  moment " 

"  Pray,  permit  me,"  said  Lensky  ;  and 
turning  to  the  princess,  "  so  it  is  about 
your  violins?  " 

"  Yes.  My  husband — you  know  what  an 
excellent  player  he  was,"  continued  the  old 
lady,  "  has  left  three  violins.  People  have 
always  told  me  they  were  worth  a  small 
fortune,  but  I  did  not  wish  to  part  with 
them  at  any  price.  I  ask  you — a  souvenir. 
But  finally — times  are  hard,  and  one  must 
not  be  too  hard  on  the  peasants,  and,  be- 
sides, as  none  of  my  children  play  the  vio- 
lin, however  musical  they  are — well,  I 
would  be  very  glad  if  you  would  try  the 
instruments  and  incidentally  value  them. 

You  could  perhaps  advise  me — yes 

What  is  the  matter,  Natascha  ?  " 

For  Natalie  had  blushed  to  the  roots  of 
her  hair.  Tears  stood  in  her  eyes. 

Boris  guessed  that  she  feared  he  would 
look  upon  the  explanation  of  her  mother 
as  a  bid. 


Asbein.  3 1 

"  I  remember  the  violins  very  well,"  he 
hastened  to  assure  her  ;  "  especially  one  of 
them  excited  my  envy.  It  would  please  me 
very  much  to  try  them  again." 

The  servant  brought  the  violins  and  at 
the  same  time  a  pile  of  hastily  snatched-up 
violin  music,  smelling  of  dust,  dampness, 
and  camphor.  The  wonderfully  beautiful 
instruments  were  in  a  pitiable  condition — 
half  of  the  strings  were  gone,  those  that  re- 
mained were  brittle  and  dry.  But  still  there 
was  a  small  stock  of  them.  After  Boris, 
with  the  loving  patience  and  surgical  skill 
with  which  only  a  true  violinist  handles  an 
Amati,  had  put  it  in  a  suitable  condition 
and  then  tuned  it,  he  drew  the  bow  softly 
across  it.  A  strangely  sweet,  tender,  sad 
sound  vibrated  through  the  great  empty 
room.  It  seemed  as  if  the  violin  awoke 
with  a  sigh  from  an  enchanted  sleep.  A 
pleasant  shudder  passed  over  Natalie. 

Lensky  bent  his  cheek  to  the  splendid  in- 
strument like  a  lover.  "  Shall  we  try  some- 
thing?" said  he,  and  took  from  the  pile  of 


32  Asbein. 

notes  a  nocturne  of  Chopin,  transposed  for 
the  violin,  opened  the  piano,  the  only  good 
and  costly  piece  of  furniture  in  the  room, 
and  laid  the  notes  on  the  music-rack. 
"  Now,  Natalie  Alexandrovna,  may  I  beg 
you  ?  " 

Quite  frightened  by  his  artistic  greatness 
— yes,  trembling  from  charming  embarrass- 
ment— she  sat  down  at  the  piano. 

His  violin  began  to  sing;  how  full  and 
soft,  so  delightfully  languishing,  and  also 
somewhat  veiled,  as  is  usually  the  case  with 
an  instrument  unused  for  years. 

"  How  beautiful !  "  murmured  Natalie, 
with  eyes  sparkling  with  animation. 

"  Yes,  it  is  a  splendid  instrument,"  re- 
plied Lensky. .  "  You  cannot  imagine  what 
it  is  to  play  on  an  instrument  which  under- 
stands one.  It  is  still  only  a  little  bit  sleepy, 
but  we  will  awaken  it." 

He  placed  a  sonata  of  Beethoven  before 
Natalie.  They  were  alone.  After  the  first 
bar  of  the  nocturne  the  princess  had  fallen 
asleep,  at  the  last  she  had  waked,  and  had 


Asbein.  33 

retired,  with  the  remark  that  she  could  hear 
much  better  in  the  adjoining  room. 

"  Will  you  really  tolerate  my  accompani- 
ment?" murmured  the  young  girl. 

"  And  do  you  wish  to  hear  again,  vain 
little  princess,  what  I  already  told  you  in 
St.  Petersburg,  that  I  have  seldom  found 
a  more  sympathetic  accompaniment  than 
yours?"  he  replied. 

She  was  an  uncommonly  good  pianist, 
and  with  an  unusually  fine  divination  fol- 
lowed all  the  shades  of  his  art.  One  piece 
followed  the  other.  After  awhile  a  certain 
relaxation  was  perceptible  in  her. 
•  "  You  are  tired,"  said  he,  breaking  off  in 
the  middle  of  the  first  phrase  of  Mendels- 
sohn's G-minor  concerto.  "  I  should  not 
have  given  you  so  much  to  do.  Pardon 
me." 

"  Oh,  what  does  that  matter,"  said  she, 
while  she  let  her  hands  slide  from  the  keys. 
"  It  was  splendid,  only,  do  you  see,  I  feel  as 
if  I  am  a  dragging-shoe  for  you.  I  would 
like  to  have  a  wish,  a  great  immoderate 
3 


34  Asbein. 

wish.  I  would  like  to  hear  you  once  alone, 
without  accompaniment,  from  your  heart. 
Give  me  one  glance  into  your  soul,  make 
your  musical  confession  to  me  !  " 

He  felt  a  peculiar  twitching  and  burning 
in  his  finger-tips.  He  would  rather  have 
killed  himself  than  let  her  glance  into  his 
inmost  soul,  as  the  condition  of  that  soul 
had  been  until  then. 

"  Do  not  ask  that  of  me,"  said  he,  hoarse- 

ly- 

"  It  was  very  immodest  in  me,  excuse 
me,"  said  she  hastily  and  confused. 

"  Oh,  that    is  nothing,"  he    assured  her. 
"  Do  you  think  that  I   will  spare  the  little. 
bit  of  pleasure  that  I  can  perhaps  give  you, 
only — but  if  you  really  wish  it — as  far  as  I 
am  concerned  — 

He  took  up  the  violin. 

It  was  a  different  affair  now.  Dragging- 
shoe  or  not — in  any  case  her  accompani- 
ment had  had  a  calming  and  perhaps  puri- 
fying effect  on  his  musical  instincts.  With 
her  he  had  played  as  a  wonderfully  deeply 


Asbe'in.  35 

sensitive  and  technically  cultivated  virtu- 
oso ;  in  spite  of  all  the  heartfelt  fulness  of 
tone  and  vibrating  passion,  he  had  scarcely 
passed  the  boundary  of  musical  convention- 
ality. It  had  been  the  highest  possibility 
of  a  quiet,  artistic  performance ;  but  what 
Natalie  now  heard  was  no  longer  art,  but 
something  at  once  splendid  and  fearful.  It 
was  also  no  longer  a  violin  on  which  he 
played,  but  a  strange,  enchanted  instru- 
ment that  she  had  never  known  formerly 
and  that  he  himself  had  invented ;  an  in- 
strument from  which  everything  that  sounds 
the  sweetest  and  saddest  on  earth  vibrated, 
from  the  low  voice  of  a  woman  to  the  soft, 
complaining  sigh  of  the  waves  dying  on  the 
shore.  A  depth  of  genial  musical  eloquence 
burst  forth  under  his  bow.  Inconsolable 
pain — dry,  hard,  cutting ;  tender  teasing, 
winning  grace,  mad  rejoicing,  a  wild  confu- 
sion of  passion  and  music,  the  height  and 
depth  of  neck-breaking  technical  extrava- 
gance. 

But   what   was   most   peculiar  about   his 


36  Asbetn. 

playing,  and  had  the  most  magical  effect, 
was  neither  the  mad  bravura  nor  the  flatter- 
ing grace,  but  something  oppressive,  mys- 
terious, that  crept  maliciously  into  the  heart 
and  veins,  ensnaring  and  paralyzing — a  thing 
of  itself,  a  strange  horror.  Again  and  again, 
like  a  mysterious  call,  appeared  in  his  im- 
provisation the  same  bewitching,  exciting 
succession  of  tones,  taken  from  the  Ara- 
bian folk-songs,  the  devil's  music. 

Suddenly  he  seemed  to  be  beside  himself; 
he  drew  the  bow  across  the  violin  as  if  beset 
by  an  untamable,  passionate  excitement.  It 
was  no  longer  one  violin  which  one  heard ; 
it  was  twenty  violins,  or,  rather,  twenty 
demons,  who  howled  and  cried  together. 

With  hands  lightly  folded  in  her  lap, 
and  head  leaned  back  against  her  chair, 
Natalie  had  listened.  In  the  beginning 
she  had  been  carried  out  of  herself  by  a 
feeling  of  painfully  sweet  happiness.  But 
now  she  felt  strangely  oppressed.  It 
seemed  to  her  as  if  something  pulled  at 
every  fibre,  every  nerve,  as  if  her  heart  was 


Asbein.  37 

bursting.  She  would  have  liked  to  cry  out 
and  hold  her  ears,  and  still  did  not  move, 
but  listened  eagerly  to  that  piercing,  wild, 
passionate  tone.  Never  had  she  felt  within 
her  such  hot,  beating,  intense  life  as  in  this 
hour.  Her  whole  past  existence  now 
seemed  to  her  like  a  long,  stupid  lethargy, 
from  which  she  had  at  last  been  awakened. 
Tears'  flowed  from  her  eyes.  Then  his  look 
met  hers.  A  kind  of  shame  at  his  brutality 
overcame  him,  and  his  playing  died  away 
in  sad,  sweet,  anguished  tenderness.  With 
contracted  brows  and  trembling  hands,  he 
laid  down  the  violin.  "  You  wished  it ! " 
said  he.  "  You  should  not  have  asked  it  of 
me.  I  can  refuse  you  nothing.  God  !  how 
pale  you  are  !  I  have  made  you  ill !  " 

She  smiled  at  his  anxious  exaggeration, 
then  murmured  softly,  as  if  in  a  dream : 
"  It  was  wonderfully  beautiful,  and  I  shall 
never  forget  it — never  forget  it,  only " 

"  What  have  you  to  object  ?  " 

"Shall  I  really  tell  you?" 

"  Certainly ;  I  beg  you  to." 


38  Asbe'in. 

"Well,"  she  began,  hesitatingly,  with  a 
somewhat  uneasy  smile,  as  if  she  was  afraid 
of  wounding  his  irritable  artistic  sensibility, 
"  I  ask  myself  how  one  can  abuse  an  instru- 
ment from  which  one  can  charm  such  be- 
witching harmonies,  and  which  one  loves  as 
you  love  your  violin,  as  you  have  just  now 
abused  it  ?  " 

He  was  silent  for  a  moment,  surprised, 
looked  at  the  violin  with  a  loving,  compas- 
sionate glance,  as  if  it  were  a  living  being. 
Then  he  passed  his  hand  across  his  forehead. 

"  I  do  not  know  how  it  is,"  said  he,  con- 
fusedly. "  Sometimes  something  comes 
over  me.  Ah !  if  you  knew  what  it  is  to 
have,  all  one's  life,  such  a  sultry,  sneaking 
thunderstorm  in  one's  veins  as  I  have. 
Sometimes  it  bursts  forth ;  it  must  have 
vent.  I  cannot  rule  myself.  Teach  me 
how! " 

He  said  that,  so  naively  ashamed,  quite 
pleadingly,  like  a  great  child ;  he  had 
strangely  warm,  touching  tones  in  his  deep, 
rough  voice. 


Asbe'in.  39 

When  Lensky  presented  himself  again, 
the  next  day,  in  the  Palazzo  Morsini,  and, 
indeed,  this  time  to  arrange  the  purchase  of 
the  wonderful  violin,  the  princess  called  out 
gayly  to  him  : 

"  The  violins  are  no  longer  to  be  had.  I 
have  bought  all  three.  I  gave  all  my  sav- 
ings for  them.  If  you  wish  to  play  on 
them,  you  must  come  here.  But — you 
may  come  as  often  as  you  wish  !  " 

"  For  how  long?"  asked  he,  with  a  pecul- 
iar tremble  in  his  voice. 

She  turned  away  her  head.  After  awhile 
she  said,  apparently  irrelevantly,  with  her 
gay,  ingenuous  smile,  that  still  never  quite 
banished  the  sadness  from  her  pale  face : 
"  Do  you  know  that  we  are  really  as  poor 
as  church  mice?  It  is  comical.  Mamma 
consoles  herself  with  the  thought  that  I 
will  make  a  good  match.  If  she  should  be 
mistaken,  what  a  tragedy  !  " 

She  laughed  merrily.  What  did  she 
mean  by  that  ? 


4O  Asbetn. 

He  came  oftener  and  oftener  to  the  old 
palace  in  the  Via  Giulia ;  came  every  day, 
indeed. 

Formerly  intercourse  with  women  of  rank 
had  always  formed  only  a  short  parenthesis 
in  his  otherwise  dissolute  life.  Now  the 
couple  of  hours,  or  sometimes  they  were 
only  minutes,  which  he  daily  passed  with 
the  Assanows  were  the  key-note  of  all  the 
rest  of  his  existence.  How  happy  he  felt 
with  them  ! 

If  elsewhere  the  great  society  ladies  had 
raved  over  the  artist  Lensky  to  an  immod- 
erate extent,  they  had  quite  ignored  the 
man.  But  with  the  Assanows  it  was  differ- 
ent, or  at  least  it  seemed  GO.  His  fame  was 
not  put  forward  from  morning  to  night. 
There  were  days  in  which  his  violin-playing 
was  not  even  mentioned.  The  artist  stopped 
in  the  background,  and  in  association  with 
Natalie  and  her  mother  he  was  no  star, 
no  lion,  only  a  very  wise,  peculiar,  sympa- 
thetic man,  who  pleased  quite  aside  from 
his  artistic  gifts.  Besides,  with  them  he 


Asbe'in.  41 

appeared  differently  than  with  any  one  else 
in  the  world. 

His  petulant  defiance  disappeared,  as 
well  as  the  helplessness  for  which  it  was  a 
shield. 

He  was  completely  uncultivated  from  the 
foundation.  Grown  up  among  ignorant 
men  who  profited  by  his  early  unfolding 
talent,  and  misused  it  in  order  to  earn 
money  thereby ;  sentenced  consequently 
as  a  child  to  just  as  many  hours  of  hard 
musical  practice  as  his  poor  still  undevel- 
oped body  could  endure,  he  had,  at  fourteen 
years  of  age,  when  he  could  barely  read 
and  write,  not  even  the  consciousness  of  his 
lack  of  knowledge.  That  came  later,  came 
when  great  people  began  to  be  interested 
in  him.  But  then  it  was  painful  and  humil- 
iating beyond  measure. 

Whatever  one  can  acquire  in  later  years 
he  acquired.  Another  would  have  made  a 
show  of  the  astonishing  amount  of  reading 
which  he  had  accomplished  in  the  course  of 
years,  but  he  never  learned  to  display  his 


42  Asbetn. 

lately  won  intellectual  riches  with  grace. 
He  had  not  the  frivolity  of  superficial  men. 
Much  too  clever  not  to  be  conscious  that 
his  little  bit  of  supplementary  cultivation 
was  still  only  patchwork,  even  if  made  of 
very  noble,  large  patches,  he  confined  his 
remarks  in  society,  if  the  conversation  was 
upon  anything  but  music,  to  a  few  heavy 
commonplaces. 

With  Natalie  and  her  mother  it  was  quite 
different.  He  never,  indeed,  spoke  very 
much,  but  everything  that  he  said  was 
characteristic,  stimulating,  interesting,  and 
as,  in  spite  of  his  sad  lack  of  education,  he 
was  free  from  narrow  provincialisms  and  af- 
fectations, and  with  the  capability  of  assim- 
ilation of  all  barbarians,  understood  exactly 
Natalie's  pure  and  poetic  being,  he  never 
wounded  her  by  a  coarse  lack  of  tact,  but 
attracted  her  doubly  by  the  austere  uncon- 
ventionality  of  his  manner. 

Every  day  he  became  more  sympathetic 
to  her  ;  she  had  long  been  indispensable  to 
him. 


Asbem.  43 

He  was  suddenly  struck  with  horror  of 
his  past.  It  seemed  to  him  as  if  everything 
that  was  beautiful  in  his  life  had  just  begun 
when  her  pure  bright  apparition  had  en- 
tered it.  She  had  brought  a  cooling,  heal- 
ing element  to  his  sultry  existence.  It  was 
as  if  one  had  opened  a  window  in  a  room 
full  of  oppressive  vapor — a  great  breath  of 
sweet,  spicy  air  had  purified  the  atmo- 
sphere. 

A  large  part  of  his  intellectual  self  which 
had  formerly  lain  fallow,  now  grew  and  blos- 
somed. Often,  in  the  morning,  he  accom- 
panied the  ladies  to  some  art  collection. 
Very  frequently  he  occupied  a  place  in  the 
carriage  which  the  princess  had  hired  for 
their  drives. 

Every  one  looked  after  the  carriage,  and 
observed  with  the  same  interest  the  wonder- 
fully beautiful  girl,  and  the  great  artist,  who 
was  not  handsome,  but  whose  face  once 
seen  could  never  be  forgotten. 

What  was  most  remarkable  about  it  was 
the  difference  between  the  expression  of  his 


44  Asbe'in. 

eyes  and  that  of  his  mouth,  a  difference 
which  betrayed  the  entire  quality  of  his  in- 
ner nature.  While  his  eyes  had  a  spying, 
at  times  quite  enthusiastic,  expression, 
around  the  mouth  was  a  trace  of  intense 
earthly  thirst  for  enjoyment. 

This  mingling  predestinated  him  to  that 
eternal  discontent  of  certain  great  natures 
who  can  just  as  little  accustom  themselves, 
on  the  earth,  to  a  condition  of  bloodless 
asceticism  as  to  one  of  mindless  material- 
ism. The  first  desires  no  enjoyment  of  the 
world,  the  second  pleases  itself  with  what- 
ever is  to  be  had  in  the  world.  Those  men 
only  who  seek  the  heavenly  spark  in  earth- 
ly joys  remain  forever  deceived  here.  He 
was  destined  never  to  cease  to  seek  it. 
Even  in  gray  old  age,  when  his  finely  cut 
lips  were  satiated  with  enjoyment,  and  were 
fixed  in  a  grimace  of  incessant,  sad  disgust, 
his  eyes  still  sought  it. 

His  colleagues  in  St.  Petersburg  asked 
each  other  what  kept  him  so  long  in  Rome. 


Asbetn.  45 

He  wrote  one  of  them  that  he  was  working, 
and  indeed  he  did  work.  Through  his  soul 
vibrated  melodies  full  of  bewitching  sad 
loveliness,  full  of  the  rejoicing  and  com- 
plaint of  a  longing  which  could  not  yet  at- 
tain the  longed-for  happiness. 

And  there  in  Rome,  in  those  mild  fra- 
grant spring  nights,  he  wrote  a  cyclus  of 
songs  which  might  rank  at  the  side  of  the 
most  beautiful  musical  lyrics  ever  written. 

In  spite  of  their  full  richness  of  melody, 
his  earlier  compositions  had  something  too 
glaring,  overladen,  and  trivially  pleasing; 
they  were  too  much  influenced  by  his  vir- 
tuosity to  please  for  themselves.  In  his 
Roman  cyclus  of  songs  he  showed  himself 
for  the  first  time  a  great  musician.  And 
as  until  then  he  had  distrusted  his  talent 
as  composer,  he  was  pleasantly  astonished 
over  his  own  achievement. 

He  always  worked  at  night.  His  writing- 
table  stood  in  front  of  the  window  of  his 
room  which  looked  out  on  the  Piazza  di 
Spagna.  Very  often  his  glance  wandered 


46  Asbetn. 

there.  A  dark-blue  heaven  lighted  by 
thousands  of  stars  arched  above  the  broad, 
irregular  place,  over  the  antique  columns, 
from  whose  height  a  modern  art  nonentity 
looks  down  on  Rome. 

All  was  silent,  only  the  water,  the  reso- 
nant soul  of  Rome,  tittered  and  sobbed  in  the 
basins  and  fountains,  and  spouted  up  jubi- 
lantly in  damp  silver  streams,  greeting  from 
afar  the  unattainable  heavens,  and  all  the 
tittering,  sobbing,  and  rejoicing  united  in  a 
long  vibrating  broken  chord. 

Still  vibrating  in  every  fibre  at  the  recol- 
lection of  Natalie's  farewell  smile,  he  sat  at 
his  shaky  table  and  wrote.  The  mild  night 
wind,  fragrant  with  the  kisses  which  it  had 
stolen  from  the  magnolia  and  orange  blos- 
soms, crept  in  to  him  and  caressed  his  hot 
cheeks.  He  inhaled  it  eagerly.  He  had 
often  been  warned  of  the  Roman  night  air, 
but  he  did  not  think  of  the  warning,  and  if 
he  had —  ?  He  was  in  that  happy  mood  in 
which  man  no  longer  believes  in  sickness 
and  death. 


Asbe'in.  47 

The  hateful  melancholy  which  as  he  said 
often  pressed  him  down  to  the  ground,  and 
tormented  him  with  predictions  of  his  final 
annihilation,  was  gone.  He  no  longer  saw, 
as  formerly,  an  open  grave  at  his  feet. 
Heaven  had  opened  to  him.  An  indescrib- 
able, light,  elevating  feeling  had  overpow- 
ered him;  he  no  longer  felt  the  weight  of 
his  body.  Had  his  wings,  then,  grown  in 
Rome  ? 

He  did  not  think  what  would  come  of  all 
this.  He  did  not  wish  to  think  of  it ;  did 
not  wish  to  see  clearly.  With  closed  eyes 
he  walked  through  life — the  angels  led  him. 

It  was  the  beginning  of  May,  and  he  had 
finished  his  cyclus  of  songs.  With  a  beat- 
ing heart  he  entered  the  Palazzo  Morsini  to 
ask  Natalie  whether  he  might  dedicate  it  to 
her. 

The  young  princess  was  not  at  home,  but 
her  mother  would  be  very  happy  to  see 
him,  they  told  him. 


48  Asbein. 

It  was  very  hot,  the  blinds  were  all  low- 
ered. The  princess  lay  on  a  lounge  and 
fanned  herself  with  a  peacock  feather  fan. 

After  she  had  complained  of  the  heat, 
she  began  to  speak  to  him  of  all  kinds  of 
family  affairs.  Her  son  had  the  best  of 
opportunities  to  make  a  career  for  himself, 
said  she ;  her  eldest  daughter,  who  was  far 
less  pretty  than  Natalie,  added  the  princess, 
had  married  very  well  ;  her  husband  was 
indeed  a  wealthy  diplomat.  "  Mots,  je  suis 
pauvre"  concluded  the  old  lady ;  "  but  I 
could  live  quite  without  care,  if  Natalie  were 
only  married.  But  she  will  hear  nothing 
of  that.  She  lets  the  best  years  of  her  life 
pass,  and  if  you  only  knew  what  good 
matches  she  has  refused.  Pachotin  has 
already  offered  himself  twice  to  her,  and  if 
you  please " 

Just  then  a  gay  voice  interrupted  the 
inconsolable  elegy.  "  Mamma,  how  can 
any  one  boast  so  ?  "  Natalie  had  entered, 
a  large  black  hat  on  her  head,  in  her  arms  a 
huge  bunch  of  flowers. 


Asbe'in.  49 

"  I  did  not  boast — I  complained,"  replied 
the  old  woman,  sighing. 

After  Natalie  had  greeted  Lensky  with 
her  usual  friendliness,  she  laid  the  flowers 
on  the  table  and  arranged  them  in  the 
vases  which  an  Italian  chambermaid  had 
brought  her. 

"  Ah,  Natalie,  why  will  you  have  none  of 
them?"  sighed  the  princess. 

"  Little  mother,  I  can  love  but  once," 
replied  Natalie,  bending  her  brown  head 
over  the  flowers.  "  I  have  told  you  I  will 
not  marry  until  I  have  found  some  one 
quite  extraordinary — a  hero  or  a  genius." 

"  Am  I  dreaming,  or  did  she  look  at  me 
with  those  words  ?  "  Lensky  asked  himself. 
"  But  why  did  she  turn  her  eyes  away  so 
quickly  when  they  met  mine?" 

Meanwhile  the  princess  said  :  "  Yes,  if 
all  girls  wished  to  wait  thus ! " 

"  I  am  not  like  all  girls,"  said  Natalie, 
laughing.  "  Most  girls  have  hearts  like 
hand-organs,  which  every  one  can  play  ;  oth- 
ers have  hearts  like  ^Eolian  harps,  on  which 


50  Asbe'in. 

no  one  can  play,  and  still  they  always 
vibrate  so  sympathetically  for  the  world  ; 
and  still  other  girls —  '  she  interrupted 
herself  to  break  a  superfluous  leaf  from  a 
magnolia  twig. 

The  princess,  who  seemed  to  lay  little 
weight  on  Natalie's  nai've  comparisons, 
fanned  herself  indifferently  with  her  pea- 
cock fan,  but  Lensky  repeated,  "  Well, 
Natalie  Alexandrovna,  other  girls " 

"  Other  girls  have  hearts  like  Amati  vio- 
lins ;  if  a  bungler  touches  them  there  is  a 
horrible  discord  ;  but  if  a  true  artist  comes 
who  understands  it,  then — 

This  exaggerated  remark  she  had  made 
in  a  voice  trembling  between  mockery  and 
tenderness,  and  incessantly  occupied  with 
the  arrangement  of  her  flowers. 

Without  ending  the  last  sentence,  she 
broke  off,  and  bent  her  head  to  the  right  to 
observe  a  combination  of  white  roses  and 
heliotrope  with  a  thoughtful  look. 

The  princess  yawned  from  heat  and  dis- 
content. "  Leave  me  in  peace  from  your 


Asbe'in.  5 1 

musical  comparisons,  Natascha,"  said  she. 
"  Besides,  I  can  assure  you  that  no  one 
spoils  a  fine  instrument  quicker  than  one  of 
your  great  virtuosos.  When  I  think  how 
Franz  Liszt  ruined  our  Pleyel  in  a  single 
evening ;  it  was  no  longer  fit  even  for  a 
conservatory." 

"  Violins  are  not  ruined  as  quickly  as 
pianos,"  said  Natalie,  laughing  ;  then,  still 
speaking  to  the  flowers,  she  said  :  "  Don't 
you  think,  little  mother,  that  if  such  a  piano 
had  a  soul,  a  mind,  it  would  rather  rejoice  to 
really  live  for  once  under  the  hands  of  a 
great  master,  and  even  if  it  were  to  die  of 
the  joy,  than  merely  to  exist  for  a  half-cen- 
tury in  a  noble,  charming  room,  as  a  care- 
fully preserved  showpiece  ?  " 

Again  it  seemed  to  Lensky  that  she 
looked  at  him,  and  again  she  turned  away 
her  head  when  their  looks  met.  "  You  are 
astonished  at  this  great  expenditure  for 
flowers  ? "  she  remarked.  "  We  expect 
guests  this  evening- — my  cousins  from  St. 
Petersburg,  the  Jeliagins.  You  know  them, 


52  Asbetn. 

and  I  shall  try  to  draw  their  critical  looks 
away  from  the  holes  in  the  furniture  cover- 
ing to  these  beautiful  color  effects.  So ! 
Now  I  have  finished ;  here  are  a  few  May- 
bells  left  for  your  button-hole.  Ah !  really, 
you  never  wear  flowers  !  " 

"  Give  them  to  me,"  said  he,  contracting 
his  brows  gloomily.  She  smiled  at  him 
without  saying  anything.  Then  something 
scratched  at  the  door. 

"  Please  open  it,  Boris  Nikolaivitch,"  she 
asked. 

He  did  so ;  her  large  dog,  a  gigantic 
Scotch  greyhound,  came  in,  and  immediate- 
ly springing  up  on  his  beautiful  mistress,  he 
laid  both  front  paws  on  her  shoulders.  She 
took  his  heavy  head  between  her  slender 
hands,  and  murmuring  tender,  caressing 
words  to  him,  she  kissed  him  twice,  three 
times,  on  the  forehead. 

Lensky  took  leave  soon  after  without 
having  mentioned  his  song  cyclus.  His 
mind  was  in  an  uproar.  "  Is  she  only  co- 
quetting with  me  ?  "  he  asked  himself,  "  or — 


Asbein.  53 

or — "  A  passionate  joy  throbbed  in  his 
veins,  then  suddenly  an  icy  shudder  ran 
over  him.  "  And  if  she  is  only  like  all  the 
others  ! " 

At  his  departure  Natalie  had  said  to  him  : 
"  You  will  come  this  evening,  Boris  Niko- 
laivitch,  in  spite  of  this  boring  Petersburg 
invasion  ?  I  beg  you  will,  vous  serez  le  coin 
bleu  de  mon  del !  " 

The  evening  came. 

A  Roman  sirocco  evening,  with  an  ap- 
proaching thunderstorm  that  hung  heavily 
around  the  horizon  and  would  not  lift. 

The  heavily  perfumed  sultry  air  pene- 
trated through  the  drawn  curtains  into  the 
Assanows'  drawing-room.  The  Jeliagins 
had  brought  a  couple  of  Parisian  friends 
with  them,  and  naturally  Pachotin  was  not 
missing.  A  deathly  ennui  reigned.  They 
spoke  of  Parisian  fashions,  of  the  Empress 
Eugenie's  new  court  ;  they  complained  of 
the  new  cook  in  the  Hotel  de  1'Europe,  and 
of  the  heat. 


54  Asbein. 

Then  they  spoke  of  national  dances.  The 
Jeliagins  had  recently  travelled  in  Spain 
and  were  enthusiastic  about  the  fandango. 
The  Parisians  had  heard  there  was  nothing 
more  graceful  than  a  well-danced  Polish 
mazurka  ;  could  none  of  the  Russian  ladies 
dance  one  for  them  ? — a  very  bold  request, 
but  they  were  all  friends. 

The  Jeliagins  announced  that  Natalie 
danced  the  mazurka  like  a  true  woman  of 
Warsaw.  They  left  her  no  peace. 

"  Oh,  I  will  put  on  no  more  airs,"  said 
she,  "  if  one  of  the  ladies  will  take  a  seat  at 
the  piano,  so — 

To  go  to  the  piano,  even  were  it  only 
to  play  dance-music,  in  Lensky's  pres- 
ence !  The  ladies  swooned  at  the  mere 
thought. 

"  Very  well,  then  you  must  give  up  the 
mazurka,"  said  Natalie,  decidedly. 

"  Ask  Boris  Nikolaivitch,"  whispered  one 
of  the  St.  Petersburg  women.  "  If  he  is 
the  first  violinist  of  his  time,  he  is  also  an 
excellent  pianist." 


Asbe'tn.  55 

"  No,  no,"  said  Natalie,  firmly,  and  then 
her  great  brilliant  eyes  met  Lensky's. 

Although  at  that  time  he  maintained  his 
artistic  dignity  with  quite  childish  exaggera- 
tion, he  smiled  very  good-naturedly  and 
said,  "  I  see  very  well  that  you  place  no 
confidence  in  me  ;  you  think  I  cannot  catch 
your  mazurka  music." 

"  No,  no,  no  !  "  said  Natalie.  "  You  shall 
not  degrade  your  art." 

"And  do  you  really  think  it  would  be  de- 
grading to  improvise  a  musical  background 
for  your  performance  ?  I  should  so  like 
to  see  you  dance."  And  he  stood  up  and 
went  to  the  piano. 

Such  pretty  little  phrases  were  formerly 
not  his  style.  He  had,  as  Natalie  had  often 
laughingly  told  him,  no  talent  for  fioriture 
in  conversation. 

The  Petersburg  ladies  looked  at  each 
other.  "  How  polite  he  has  become  !  You 
have  changed  him,  Natascha,"  whispered 
they. 

Meanwhile  Pachotin  gave  Natalie  his  hand. 


56  Asbe'in. 

Lensky  had  seized  the  opportunity  of 
admiring  her  grace  with  joy.  He  had  never 
thought  how  painfully  it  would  affect  him 
to  see  her  dance  with  another  man.  He 
did  not  take  his  eyes  off  her,  and  mean- 
while improvised  the  most  bewitching  devil's 
music. 

She  wore  a  white  dress,  her  neck  and 
arms  were  bare,  and  around  her  waist  was  a 
Circassian  girdle  embroidered  with  gold 
and  silver.  One  hand  in  her  partner's,  the 
other  hanging  loosely  at  her  side,  her  head 
slightly  on  one  side,  she  moved  safely  over 
the  dangerously  smooth  surface  of  the 
marble  floor.  At  the  beginning,  pale  as 
usual,  except  her  dark-red  lips,  she  looked 
quite  indifferent  ;  gradually  she  became 
warmer  and  more  animated,  a  slight  blush 
crept  into  her  cheeks,  her  eyes  beamed  as 
if  in  a  happy  dream,  around  her  lips  trem- 
bled the  sad  expression  which  the  feeling  of 
intense  pleasure  often  causes  us,  and  her 
movements  at  the  same  time  had  some- 
thing indescribably  gentle  and  supple. 


1-FK. 


AT  THE  liEGlNMNG,  PALE  AS  USUAL,  EXCEPT  THE  DARK-KED  LIPS,  SHE  LOOKED 
QUITE  INDIFFERENT  ;  GRADUALLY  SHE  BECAME  WARMER  AND  MORE  ANIMATF.D,  A 
SLIGHT  BLUSH  CREPT  INTO  HER  CHEEKS,  HER  EVES  BEAMED  AS  IN  A  HAPPY  DREAM 


Asbe'in.  57 

Pachotin,  most  correctly  attired,  with  a 
collar  which  reached  to  the  tips  of  his  ears 
and  faultless  yellow  gloves,  hopped  around 
her  in  the  true  affected  knightly  grimacing 
Polish-mazurka  manner. 

"  An  ape  !  "  thought  Lensky  to  himself ; 
"  but  how  handsome,  how  distinguished  he 
is  !  almost  as  handsome  as  she  !  "  and  sud- 
denly the  question  occurred  to  him  :  "  Is 
it  my  music  or  his  presence  which  animates 
her  ?  And  if  it  were  my  music  !  Never- 
theless, she  will  still  marry  him  ;  yes,  even 
if  she  were  in  love  with  me,  still  she  would 
marry  him,  and  not  me  !  What  a  fool  I  was 
to  imagine " 

After  Pachotin  had  soberly  placed  his 
heels  together  and  acknowledged  his  deep 
devotion  to  the  lady  by  a  suitable  courtesy, 
the  mazurka  was  a't  an  end. 

Quite  beside  themselves  with  enthusi- 
asm, the  Parisians  surrounded  Natalie. 
When  she  wished  to  thank  Lensky  he  had 
disappeared.  It  was  his  manner  many 
times  to  withdraw  without  taking  leave,  but 


58  Asbein. 

still  to-day  it  made  Natalie  uneasy.  She 
was  vibrating  with  a  great  excitement,  the 
air  seemed  to  her  suffocatingly  hot,  she 
drew  off  her  gloves ;  the  noise  of  the 
prattling  voices  became  unbearable  to  her, 
and  she  passed  through  the  second  empty 
drawing-room,  into  the  arched  loggia  set 
with  blooming  orange-trees,  from  which  one 
looked  across  the  court-yard  to  the  Tiber. 

The  storm  still  hung  on  the  horizon. 
Heavy  masses  of  clouds,  shot  through  by 
pale  lightning,  towered,  on  the  other  side  of 
the  river,  above  the  gloomy  architecture  of 
the  Trastevere.  They  had  not  yet  reached 
the  moon,  which,  palely  shining,  stood  high 
in  the  heavens.  Its  light  illumined  the 
court,  with  its  statues  and  bas-reliefs.  The 
air  was  sultry. 

Natalie  drew  a  deep  breath.  Suddenly 
she  discovered  Lensky.  He  was  staring 
down  on  the  Tiber,  which,  rolling  by  in  its 
bed,  incessantly  sighed,  as  if  from  sorrow  at 
its  sad  lot,  which  compelled  it  continually  to 
hasten  past  everything. 


Asbe'in.  59 

Could  one  really  take  it  amiss  in  the 
stream  if  it  sometimes  overflowed  its  banks 
in  order  to  carry  away  with  it  some  of  the 
beautiful  objects,  near  which,  condemned  to 
perpetual  wandering,  it  might  not  remain 
standing? 

"Ah!  you  here?"  said  Natalie.  "I 
thought  you  had  taken  French  leave.  I  was 
vexed  with  you." 

"So!" 

"Yes,  because — because  I  was  sorry  not 
to  be  able  to  thank  you.  It  was  really " 

"  Do  not  speak  so,"  said  he,  quite  rough- 
ly ;  "  just  as  if  you  did  not  know  that  there 
is  nothing  in  the  world,  nothing  in  my 
power  that  I  would  not  do  for  you  !  " 

She  bent  her  head  back  a  little  and 
smiled  at.  him  in  a  friendly  way,  but  as  if 
his  words  had  not  surprised  her  in  the 
slightest.  "  You  are  very  good  to  me,"  said 
she. 

He  felt  strangely  thus  alone  with  her  in 
this  sweet-perfumed,  melancholy,  intoxicat- 
ing sultriness,  alone  with  this  happiness  that 


60  Asbein. 

was  so  near  him,  and  which  he  was  afraid  of 
frightening  away  by  an  unseemly  impru- 
dence. He  felt  by  turns  hot  and  cold. 
Why  did  she  not  go  ? 

She  rested  her  hands  on  the  marble  bal- 
ustrade of  the  loggia  and  bending  over  it 
she  murmured:  "  How  beautiful  !  oh,  how 
wonderfully  beautiful !  And  it  is  so  tire- 
some in  there  ;  do  you  not  find  it  so,  Boris 
Nikolaivitch  ?  " 

His  throat  contracted,  he  felt  that  he  was 
about  to  lose  control  of  himself. 

"  Shall  I  play  ?  "  he  asked.  "  I  will  do  it 
willingly  for  you." 

"  Oh,  no  !  Why  should  you  play  to  those 
stupid  people  in  there  ?  "  replied  she.  "  I 
would  be  prepared  to  hear,  in  the  middle  of 
the  G  minor  concerto,  the  question  :  '  Before 
I  forget  it,  can  you  not  give  me  the  address 
of  a  good  shoemaker  in  Rome  ? '  You  know 
how  such  things  vex  me." 

"Is   she  coquetting  with    me,  or — ?" 
he  asked  himself  again. 

She  stoo'd   before  him  with  her  enchant- 


"OH,  YOU    DEAR,  DE^K    GIKL!"   HE   MURMURED,    WITH    HOARSE,    SCARCELY   AUDIBLE 
VOICK,   AND   1'RESSED   IT  TO   HIS   LIPS. 

CRIMSONING.    SHE  TORE   AWAY    HER    HAND. 

/.  bl. 


Asbein.  61 

ing  face,  and  her  tender  glance  met  his. 
She  did  not  know  that  she  tormented  him. 
In  spite  of  her  twenty-one  years,  she  had 
the  boundless  innocence  of  a  girl  whose 
mind  has  never  been  desecrated  by  the 
knowledge  of  passion,  a  degree  of  inno- 
cence in  which  men  do  not  believe. 

"Is  she  coquetting?"  His  heart  beat 
to  bursting,  and  suddenly,  when  she  quite 
unconstrainedly  came  one  step  nearer  him, 
he  took  her  hand.  "  Oh,  you  dear,  dear 
girl! "he  murmured,  with  hoarse,  scarcely 
audible  voice,  and  pressed  it  to  his  lips. 

Crimsoning,  she  tore  away  her  hand. 
"  For  Heaven's  sake,  what  are  you  think- 
ing of  ?  "  said  she,  and  started  back  with  a 
proud,  almost  scornful  gesture. 

Then  a  horrible  anger  overcame  him. 

"  I  was  stupid,  I  was  mistaken  in  you. 
You  think  no  more  nobly  or  better  than  the 
others  !  "  he  burst  out. 

"  I  do  not  understand  you.  What  do  you 
mean  ?"  murmured  she. 

What  else  had  she  to  ask  ?    Why  did  she 


62  Asbe'in. 

not  go,  but  stood  before  him,  as  if  par- 
alyzed, with  her  pale,  seductive  loveliness, 
surrounded  by  moonlight  ? 

"  I  mean  that  if  you  observe  our  rela- 
tions from  this  conventional  standpoint, 
your  behavior  to  me  was  a  heartless,  arro- 
gant abomination." 

"  But,  Boris  Nikolaivitch,  that  is  all 
foolishness.  You  do  not  know  what  you 
are  saying,"  she  stammered,  quite  beside 
herself. 

"  So  !  I  do  not  know  what  I  am  saying? ' 
He  had  now  stepped  close  up  to  her.  "  And 
if  I,  mistaking  your  coquetries — yes,  that 
is  the  word ;  blush  now  and  be  a  little 
ashamed — if  I,  mistaking  your  coquetries, 
have  permitted  myself  to  petition  for  your 
hand  ?  Oh,  how  you  start !  Naturally,  you 
had  never  thought  of  such  a  thing!  " 

His  voice  was  hoarse  and  rasping,  his  face 
very  calm  and  as  if  petrified  by  anger  and 
such  a  mental  torment  as  he  had  never  be- 
fore experienced.  "  But  go  !  Why  do  you 
stay  and  torture  me?  I  will  no  longer  look 


Asbein.  63 

at  you.  I  abominate  you,  and  still  I  love 
you  so  passionately,  so  madly !  " 

Yes,  why  did  she  still  not  go?  He  could 
endure  it  no  longer — he  clasped  her  to  his 
breast  and  kissed  her  with  his  hot,  burning 
lips.  Then  she  pushed  him  from  her  and 
fled. 

He  looked  after  her.  Now  all  was  over. 
For  one  moment  he  remained  standing 
on  the  same  spot,  then,  with  deeply  bowed 
head,  dragging  his  feet  along  slowly,  he 
passed  through  the  vestibule  and  left,  with- 
out thinking  of  his  hat,  which  he  had  left 
in  the  drawing-room. 

For  the  remainder  of  the  evening  Nata- 
lie's whole  being  betrayed  only  haste  and 
uneasiness.  She  spoke  more  and  quicker 
than  formerly,  laughed  frequently,  and  told 
the  gayest  stories. 

When  her  Petersburg  cousins  wished  to 
tease  her  with  Lensky's  enthusiasm  for  her, 
and  laughingly  called  him  "  your  genius," 
she  mentioned  him  indifferently,  quite  dis- 
approvingly, shrugged  her  shoulders  over 


64  Asbe'in. 

his  talent  as  composer — yes,  even  found 
fault  with  his  playing.  She  was  friendly, 
quite  inviting,  to  Pachotin ;  she  no  longer 
knew  what  she  did,  only  when  he  wished 
to  give  the  conversation  a  more  earnest 
turn  she  broke  it  off  suddenly  and  remorse- 
lessly. 

When  at  last,  at  last,  the  drawing-room 
*was  empty  and  she  might  withdraw,  she 
locked  herself  in  her  room,  threw  herself 
down  before  the  holy  picture  before  which 
she  always  said  her  evening  prayer.  But, 
however  she  tried  to  pray,  she  could  not. 
She  did  not  know  for  what  she  should  pray. 
Her  cheeks  burned  with  dreadful  shame. 
How  could  he  have  so  far  forgotten  himself 
with  her! 

She  threw  open  a  window.  What  did  it 
matter  to  her  that  they  said  the  Roman 
night  air  was  poisonous?  She  would  have 
liked  to  take  the  Roman  fever,  would  have 
liked  to  die.  Her  window  opened  on  the 
street.  The  Via  Giulia  was  divided  by  the 
moonlight  into  two  parts,  one  light  and  one 


Asbein.  65 

dark.  All  was  quiet,  empty,  deserted. 
Then  there  was  a  sound  of  slow,  dragging 
steps,  and  two  lowered  voices  whispered 
down  there  in  the  silent  solitude.  It  was 
probably  a  pair  of  belated  lovers,  and  sud- 
denly there  was  a  soft,  tender  sound  through 
the  mild  May  night.  She  caught  her  breath, 
closed  the  window,  and  turned  back  to  her 
room.  Half-undressed,  she  sat  on  the  edge 
of  her  little  cool  white  bed  and  thought 
again  and  again — of  the  same  thing — of  his 
kiss. 

"Why  has  'your  genius'  so  suddenly 
tired  of  Rome?  He  leaves  to-day,"  re- 
marked the  Jeliagins,  who  had  come  to 
lunch  the  next  morning  in  the  Palazzo  Mor- 
sini. 

They  were  staying  at  the  same  hotel  as 
Lensky — that  is  to  say,  in  the  "  Europe  " — 
and  had  spoken  to  him  in  the  court  of  the 
hotel.  "  He  looked  miserably,"  they  added, 
with  a  haughty  glance.  "  Either  he  has  Ro- 
man fever  or  you  have  broken  his  heart." 

5 


66  Asbein. 

Then  they  spoke  of  other  things.  Soon 
after  lunch  they  went  away. 

Meanwhile  Lensky  stumbled  up  and 
down,  up  and  down,  in  his  room.  A  sick 
lady  whose  room  was  beneath  his,  at  last 
sent  up  by  the  waiter  and  begged  him  to 
be  quiet. 

His  departure  was  fixed  for  seven  o'clock ; 
it  struck  one,  it  struck  four. 

Should  he  leave  without  having  made  a 
parting  call  upon  the  Princess  Assanow — 
run  away  like  any  fellow  who  has  borrowed 
thirty  rubles?  "But  they  will  not  receive 
me,"  he  thought,  "  if  the  princess  has  told 
her  mother.  But,  no,  she  will  have  said 
nothing ;  she  is  too  proud.  What  a  lovely 
being !  How  could  I  only —  Oh,  if  I 
might  at  least  ask  her  pardon !  But  what 
kind  of  a  pardon  would  it  be  ?  Such  a 
thing  a  woman  pardons  only  if  she  loves, 
and  how  should  she  love  me,  a  beast  as  I 
am?  She  must  have  an  aversion  for  me." 

He  resolved  to  take  leave  by  letter.  He 
tried  it  in  French  and  Russian,  but  could 


Asbein.  67 

complete  nothing.  Ashamed  of  his  laugha- 
ble incapacity,  he  tore  up  the  different  sheets 
of  letter-paper  adorned  with  "  Des  circon- 
stances  impre'vues"  or  "  La  reconnaissance  sin- 
cere que" 

Five  o'clock !  He  hastened  across  the 
courtyard,  sprang  into  a  carriage.  "  Palazzo 
Morsini,  Via  Giulia,"  he  called  to  the  coach- 
man, and  commanded  him  to  drive  fast. 

When  he  ascended  the  well-known  stairs 
he  asked  himself  a  last  time  if  he  would  be 
received. 

The  servant  conducted  him  to  the  bou- 
doir of  the  old  princess.  She  broke  off  her 
game  of  patience  to  greet  him,  only  be- 
trayed a  slight  astonishment  at  his  sudden 
departure,  and  said  that  she  and  Natalie 
should  soon  follow  his  example  and  go 
North,  probably  to  Baden-Baden,  for  the 
heat  in  Rome  began  to  be  unbearable. 
Then  she  rang  for  the  maid,  whom  she 
commissioned  to  tell  the  princess  that 
Boris  Nikolaivitch  had  come  to  take  leave. 

Lensky  waited   in  breathless  excitement. 


68  Asbein. 

The  maid  came  back  with  the  decision  : 
The  princess  was  very  ill  and  had  lain 
down  with  a  headache. 

"  Quite  as  I  expected,"  thought  Lensky, 
while  the  princess  remarked  politely,  "  She 
will  be  very  sorry." 

Then  he  kissed  the  old  lady's  hand,  she 
touched  his  forehead  with  her  lips  in  the 
Russian  custom,  wished  him  a  pleasant 
journey,  he  thanked  her  a  last  time  for  all 
the  friendship  she  had  shown  him,  and  went 
— went  quite  slowly  through  the  large 
empty  room,  in  which  the  dust  danced  in  a 
broad  sunbeam  which  lay  across  the  mar- 
ble floor,  and  in  which  the  flowers  which 
she  had  arranged  so  charmingly  yesterday 
now  stood  withered  in  their  vases. 

"  Shall  I  never  see  her  again,  never — 
never  ?  "  he  asked  himself.  He  would  have 
given  his  life  for  a  last  friendly  glance  from 
her.  What  use  was  it  to  think  of  that — it 
was  all  over ! 

Then  suddenly  he  heard  something  near 
him  like  the  rustling  of  an  angel's  wings. 


Asbein.  69 

He  looked  up.  Natalie  stood  before  him, 
deathly  pale,  with  black  rings  around  her 
eyes,  with  carelessly  arranged  hair.  A  pas- 
sionate pity,  a  tender  anxiety  overcame 
him.  "  How  she  has  suffered  through  my 
offence  !  "  he  told  himself  and  rushed  up  to 
her.  "  Natalie,  can  you  forgive  me  ?  "  he 
called. 

Her  great,  sad  eyes  were  raised  to  him 
with  an  expression  of  helpless,  ashamed 
tenderness,  as  if  they  would  say,  "  And  you 
ask  that  !  "  She  moved  her  lips,  but  no 
word  came. 

He  held  her  little  hands  trembling  with 
fever  in  his.  She  did  not  draw  them  away. 
He  grew  dizzy.  For  one  moment  they  were 
both  silent,  then  he  whispered,  drawing 
her  closer  to  him,  "  Do  you  love  me,  then  ? 
Could  you  resolve  to  bear  my  name,  to 
share  my  whole  existence  ?  " 

Scarcely  audibly  she  whispered,  "  Yes." 

We  are  sometimes  frightened  at  the  sud- 
den fulfilment  of  a  wish  which  we  have  be- 
lieved unattainable. 


70  Asbein. 

And  as  Lensky  under  the  weight  of  his 
new,  strange  happiness  sank  at  the  feet  of 
his  betrothed  and  covered  the  hem  of  her 
dress  with  tears  and  kisses,  in  the  midst  of 
his  happiness  he  felt  an  oppressed  anxiety, 
a  great  fear. 

A  few  days  after  Natalie's  betrothal  there 
was  a  short,  imperious  ring  at  the  door  of 
the  artistic  gray  anteroom,  in  which  the 
imposing  butler,  as  usual,  sat  majestically 
intrenched  behind  his  newspaper. 

Monsieur  Baptiste  raised  his  eyebrows  ; 
he  did  not  like  this  imperious  manner  of 
ringing  a  bell,  and  did  not  hurry  at  all  to 
open  the  door.  Only  when  the  ring  was  re- 
peated did  he  unlock  it.  His  face  changed 
color  from  surprise,  and  he  bowed  quite  to 
the  ground  when  he  recognized  in  the  en- 
tering gentleman  the  young  prince,  the 
eldest  brother  of  Natalie,  Sergei  Alexandro- 
vitch  Assanow. 

"Are  the  ladies  at  home?"  he  asked 
shortly  in  a  high,  somewhat  vexed  voice 


Asbe'tn.  71 

without    further     noticing     the    respectful 
greeting  of  the  servant. 

"  The  princess  is  still  in  bed,  but  the 
Princess  Natalie  is  already  up." 

"  Good.  Do  not  disturb  the  princess,  and 
announce  me  to  Princess  Natalie,"  said  As- 
sanow,  and  with  that  he  followed  the  but- 
ler, who  was  hastening  before  him,  into  the 
drawing-room.  There  he  sat  down  in  a  ma- 
hogany arm-chair  upholstered  in  faded  yel- 
low damask,  crossed  his  legs,  rested  his  tall 
shining  hat  on  his  knee  and  looked  around 
him.  On  one  of  his  hands  was  a  gray  glove, 
the  other  was  bare.  It  was  a  long,  slender, 
aristocratic  hand,  very  well  cared  for,  too 
white  for  a  man's  hand,  but  bony,  and  with 
strongly  marked  veins  on  the  back — a  hand 
which  one  saw  would  certainly  hold  firmly 
what  it  had  once  grasped,  and  a  hand  which 
was  capable  of  no  caress.  For  the  rest  it 
would  have  been  hard  to  judge  anythin'g 
from  the  exterior  of  the  prince.  He  was  a 
tall  slender  man  of  about  thirty,  with  light- 
brown  hair  that  was  already  thin  on  the  top 


72  Asbet'n. 

of  the  head,  and  a  face — smoothly  shaven 
except  a  long  mustache — which  in  the  cut  of 
the  delicate  regular  features  resembled  his 
sister's  not  unnoticeably.  But  the  expres- 
sion, that  animating  soul  of  beauty  which 
lent  Natalie's  pale  face  more  charm  than 
the  regularity  of  the  lines,  was  lacking  in 
him.  Everything  about  him  was  as  correct 
as  his  profile — his  high  stiff  collar,  the  drab 
gaiters  which  showed  beneath  his  trousers, 
his  light-gray  gloves  with  black  stitching. 
He  was  the  type  of  the  Russian  state  official 
of  the  highest  category,  the  type  of  men 
who  in  public  life  only  permit  themselves 
to  think  as  far  -as  will  not  injure  their  ad- 
vancement. 

As  he  was  a  very  clever,  sharp,  judging 
man  withal,  he  revenged  himself  for  the 
discomfort  which  the  systematic  crippling 
of  his  intellectual  capacity  in  the  service  of 
the  state  caused  _ him,  by  devoting  all  the 
superfluity  of  his  unneeded  intellect  to 
shedding  an  unpleasantly  glaring  intellect- 
ual light  about  him,  and  condemning  as 


Asbe'in.  73 

absolute  foolishness  all  those  little  poetic, 
pleasant  trifles  which  make  life  beautiful. 

He  called  this  manner  of  pleasing  him- 
self doing  his  duty. 

Strangely  enough,  with  all  his  sterile  dry- 
ness  he  was  a  true  lover  of  music.  He 
played  the  'cello  as  well  as  a  man  of  the 
world  can  permit  himself  to — that  is  to  say, 
with  an  elegant  inaccuracy,  together  with 
pedantic  bursts  of  virtuosity,  and  in  con- 
sequence had  cultivated  Lensky's  acquaint- 
ance assiduously. 

While  he  waited  for  his  sister  he  looked 
around  the  room  distrustfully  with  his 
handsome  dark  but  unpleasantly  piercing 
eyes.  He  grew  uneasy.  The  atmosphere 
of  the  whole  room  was  quite  permeated 
with  happiness.  Everything  seemed  to  feel 
happy  here — the  shabby  furniture,  the  music 
which  lay  somewhat  confusedly  on  the 

* 

piano.  On  the  table  near  which  Sergei 
Alexandrovitch  sat  stood  a  basket  of  pale 
Malmaison  roses,  under  the  piano  was  a 
violin  case. 


74  Asbe'in. 

Sergei  Alexandrovitch  frowned.  Then 
Natalie  entered  the  room  ;  he  rose,  went  to 
meet  her,  kissed  and  embraced  her.  It 
seemed  strange  to  her  that  she  did  not 
feel  as  glad  to  see  him  as  formerly,  but 
rather  felt  a  kind  of  chill.  Which  of  them 
had  changed,  he  or  she  ? 

"  What  a  surprise  !  "  said  she,  and  felt 
herself  that  her  voice  had  a  forced  sound. 
"  It  has  not  formerly  been  your  custom  to 
appear  so  unexpectedly." 

"  My  journey  was  only  decided  upon  last 
month,"  replied  he,  somewhat  hesitatingly; 
and  with  his  dull  smile  he  added,  "  I  hope 
I  do  not  arrive  inopportunely,  Natalie?" 

"  How  can  you  ask  such  a  thing  !  "  said 
she.  "  But  sit  down  and  put  your  hat 
away — you  are  at  home." 

He  remarked  the  uneasiness  of  her  man- 
ner. He  coughed  twice,  and  then  sat  down 
again  near  the  table  on  which  the  basket  of 
roses  stood. 

Natalie  sat  down.  Both  hands  resting 
on  the  red  surface  of  the  mahogany  table, 


Asbein.  75 

she  bent  over  the  flowers,  and  slowly  with 
a  kind  of  tenderness  inhaled  the  dreamy, 
melancholy  perfume. 

"  Have  you  had  a  pleasant  winter?  "  be- 
gan Sergei  Alexandrovitch. 

"  I  do  not  know,"  replied  she  without 
looking  at  him  ;  "  I  have  forgotten,  but  the 
spring  was  wonderfully  beautiful,  wonder- 
fully beautiful,"  and  she  bent  over  the 
flowers  again. 

"  Hm  !  So  you  prefer  Rome  to  Naples?  " 
said  he  condescendingly. 

"Yes." 

"  You  seem  to  have  been  very  comforta- 
bly fixed  here,"  he  remarked,  with  a  glance 
around.  "  You  have  very  pretty  rooms. 
Those  are  beautiful  roses  which  you  have 
there." 

"  Boris  Lensky  sent  them  to  me,"  said 
she,  while  she  at  the  same  time  pulled  a 
rose  from  the  basket  to  fasten  it  in  the 
bodice  of  her  light  foulard  dress.  Then  she 
sat  down  opposite  Sergei.  War  was  de- 
clared. 


76  Asbe'in. 

"  Lensky  seems  to  be  a  great  deal  with 
you,"  said  Assanow,  condescendingly. 

"  Yes." 

"  I  heard  of  it  through  acquaintances  in 
Petersburg,"  began  the  prince.  "  It  did  not 
quite  please  me." 

Natalie  only  shrugged  her  shoulders,  with 
an  expression  as  if  she  would  say  :  *  I  am 
very  sorry,  but  that  does  not  change  matters 
at  all."  In  spite  of  that  she  secretly  trem- 
bled before  her  brother.  The  announce- 
ment which  she  had  to  make  to  him  would 
not  cross  her  lips. 

"  It  is  hard  to  speak  of  certain  things  to 
you,"  he  continued,  while  he  tried  to  make 
his  thin  high  voice  sound  confidential.  He 
did  not  wish  to  make  his  sister  refractory 
by  overhasty  roughness.  "  I  have  no  pre- 
judices." It  had  recently  become  the 
fashion  in  his  set,  and  especially  for  the 
upper  ten  thousand,  to  boast  of  a  kind  of 
harmless  liberality.  "  No  one  can  accuse 
me  of  smallness.  I  am  always  in  favor  of 
attracting  young  artists  into  society — first, 


Asbein.  77 

because  they  form  an  animating  element  in 
our  circles,  and  secondly,  because  one  should 
give  them  an  opportunity  to  improve  their 
manners  a  little  ;  but  all  in  moderation. 
Too  great  intimacy  in  such  cases  is  bad  for 
both  parties.  You  are  too  much  carried 
away  by  the  generosity  of  your  heart.  I 
know  that  in  reality  your  immoderate 
kindness  to  Lensky  does  not  mean  much, 
but— 

Her  wonderfully  beautiful  eyes  met 
his. 

"  I  am  betrothed  to  Boris  Nikolaivitch," 
said  she  wearily  but  very  distinctly. 

"  Betrothed  !  "  he  burst  out.  "  You  to 
Lensky  ?  You  are  crazy  !  " 

"  Not  at  all." 

"  Does  mother  know  of  it?" 

"  Certainly." 

"  And  she  has  given  her  consent  ?  " 

"  At  first  she  was  surprised  ;  she  cried  a 
whole  afternoon.  I  was  very  sorry  to  pain 
her.  Then  she  gave  way.  She  is  very  fond 
of  him.  Every  one  must  be  fond  of  him 


78  Asbetn. 

who  learns   to   know  him   well."     Natalie's 
eyes  beamed  with  animation. 

Sergei  Alexandrovitch  pulled  at  his  mus- 
tache. "  Hm,  hm,"  he  murmured  ;  "  we 
will  leave  that  undecided.  As  it  happens,  I 
am  one  of  those  who  know  him  well ;  there 
are  few  in  our  set  who  know  him  as  inti- 
mately as  I,  and — hm — I  do  not  know  that 
he  has  caused  me  any  very  enthusiastic 
feelings.  As  artist  I  rank  him  very  high, 
not  so  high  as  has  been  the  fashion  lately, 
for  as  a  beau  dire  il  manque  de  style,  he 
lacks  style !  But  that  has  nothing  to  do 
with  this.  But  if  he  united  in  himself  the 
genius  of  Beethoven  and  Paganini,  I  would 
still  look  upon  the  possibility  of  your  alli- 
ance with  him  as  unheard  of,  and  I  tell  you 
frankly,  that  I  shall  do  all  that  is  in  my 
power  to  prevent  it."  He  had  taken  up 
again  the  hat  which  he  had  formerly  laid 
down,  and  held  it  on  his  knee  as  if  paying 
a  call  of  state.  While  he  spoke  the  last 
words,  he  knocked  on  the  top  of  it  with 
malicious  decision. 


Asbein.  79 

Natalie  crossed  her  arms. 

"  I  knew  that  you  would  oppose  the  mi- 
salliance," said  she,  "  but — 

He  would  not  let  her  finish.  "  Mesalli- 
ance !  "  said  he,  and  laughed  very  mocking- 
ly, quite  shortly  and  softly,  to  himself,  and 
began  to  drum  on  the  top  of  his  hat  again. 
"  Mesalliance  !  I  cannot  say  that  the  mar- 
riage of  my  sister  to  this  Mr.  Lensky  would 
be  especially  pleasant — no,  that  I  cannot 
say.  What  must  be  my  horror  at  your 
undertaking  if  I  scarcely  think  of  my  oppo- 
sition on  account  of  the  unequal  birth ! " 
He  was  silent,  but  then  as  Natalie  remained 
obstinately  silent,  he  continued:  "That 
you  will  in  consequence  change  your  social 
position  is  your  affair.  But  do  not  believe 
that  this  will  be  all  that  you  give  up.  You 
sacrifice  not  only  your  position,  your  whole 
personality,  all  your  habits  of  life,  but  more 
than  all  these,  you  sacrifice  all  your  formerly 
so  spared  and  guarded  womanly  tender  feel- 
ing if  you  insist  upon  marrying  this  violinist. 
Oh,  I  know  what  you  will  say,"  said  he, 


8o  '  Asbein. 

while  he  noticed  the  glance  which  Natalie 
gave  the  roses  on  the  table.  "  He  is  full  of 
poetic  attentions  for  you.  When  they  are 
in  love,  the  roughest  men  speak  in  verse. 
And  I  believe  that  he  loves  you.  But  his 
enthusiasm  for  you  is  still  only  a  passing 
effervescence.  What  will  remain  when  that 
is  gone  ?  I  ask  you,  what  would  remain  in 
a  man  without  principles,  without  a  trace  of 
moral  restraint,  who  has  •  grown  up  amid 
surroundings  which  have  forever  blunted 
his  feelings  for  things  which  would  horrify 
you,  and  others  of  which  you  have  no  sus- 
picion ?  " 

Again  he  paused,  but  this  time  Natalie 
spoke  :  "  May  I  ask  you,"  began  she,  with 
the  calm  behind  which  irritation  bordering 
on  uncontrollable  anger  concealed  itself — 
"  may  I  ask  you  to  tell  me  exactly,  without 
any  more  finely  veiled  insinuations,  what 
you  have  against  Boris  Nikolaivitch,  except 
that  he  is  of  lower  birth  and  has  enjoyed 
no  careful  bringing  up  ?  " 

"  My  God  !     If  it  is  a  question  of  my  sis- 


Asbein.  8 1 

ter's  future  husband,  that  is  enough  and 
more  than  enough !  "  said  Assanow. 

"  Is  it  all?"  asked  Natalie,  and  looked  at 
him  penetratingly. 

"  What  do  you  mean?  " 

"  Is  it  all  ?  "  she  repeated,  while  she  slowly 
rose  from  her  chair.  "  Have  you  anything 
else  against  him  ?  " 

"  I  have  really  nothing  against  him  as 
long  as  it  is  not  a  question  of  my  sister's 
husband,"  he  hissed ;  "  but  in  that  case 
everything.  And  if  instead  of  Lensky  he 
were  called  Prince  Dolgorouki,  I  would  still 
say,  as  a  husband  for  you  he  is  impossible  ! " 

"  Why — I  wish  to  know  it — why  ?  " 

"  Why  ?  Good.  I  will  tell  you,  as  far  as 
one  can  tell  you — because  he  is  a  wild  an- 
imal, with  bursts  of  roughness  of  which  you 
cannot  form  the  slightest  conception,"  said 
Assanow ;  and,  striking  his  thin  hands  to- 
gether, he  added,  with  evidently  genuine 
excitement :  "  Mais,  ma  pauvre  fille,  you 
have  no  suspicion  to  what  humiliations, 
what  degradations,  you  expose  yourself." 

6 


82  Asbe'in. 

He  stopped.  He  looked  at  his  sister 
triumphantly.  She  still  stood  before  him 
with  her  hand  resting  on  the  top  of  the 
table,  staring,  pale  and  without  a  word.  It 
would  be  false,  to  say  that  his  speech  made 
no  impression  on  her.  It  had  made  an  im- 
pression on  her.  Still,  she  ascribed  all  that 
he  said  to  boundless,  passionate  opposition. 
While  he  spoke  it  seemed  to  her  as  if  little 
pointed  icicles  were  hurled  in  her  face. 
And  weary  and  wounded  from  this  hail- 
storm of  fruitless  prudence,  she  longed  with 
all  her  heart  for  a  reconciling  delusion. 

He  misunderstood  her  apparently  great 
excitement,  and  in  the  firm  conviction  that 
she  already  secretly  began  to  fall  in  with 
his  opinion,  he  began,  this  time  in  a  kindly, 
playful  tone  :  "  My  poor  Natalie,  my  poor, 
unwise  but  always  charming  sister,  you  are 
like  children  who  see  that  they  are  wrong 
and  are  ashamed  to  acknowledge  it.  Well, 
we  will  not  press  you  too  much.  At  first 
it  is  always  painful  to  be  undeceived  ;  but 
time  cures  everything,  and  when  you  are 


Asbe'in.  83 

married  to  a  distinguished  and  reasonable 
young  fellow — un  gar^on  distingut  et  raison- 
nable — who  will  rationally  cure  you  of  your 
romantic  ideas,  you  will  only  think  of  this 
youthful  foolishness  with  a  smile." 

She  threw  back  her  head  and  measured 
him  from  head  to  foot.  At  this  moment 
he  seemed  to  her  quite  pitiable.  How 
poverty-stricken,  how  sad  was  his  whole 
inner  life,  his  feelings,  his  thoughts,  to  those 
to  which  she  had  recently  accustomed  her- 
self !  "  And  you  really  believe  that  it  could 
occur  to  me  to  give  up  Boris  Nikolaivitch  ?  " 
said  she  slowly  with  proudly  curved  lips. 

"  I  think,  after  what  I  have  said  to 
you —  He  tried  to  be  patient,  and 
even  wished  to  take  her  hand,  but  she 
drew  it  back ;  the  touch  of  his  cold,  blood- 
less fingers  was  unpleasant  to  her.  Yet 
it  had  never  been  so  before.  What  had 
changed  in  her? 

The  prince's  face  took  on  a  hard,  vexed 
expression.  "  I  think  after  what  I  have 
told  you — "  he  repeated. 


84  Asbein. 

"  Is  it  not  true,  after  what  you  have  told 
me,  after  the  consolation  you  have  offered 
me,  you  cannot  understand  that  I  keep  my 
word  ? "  said  she,  challengingly.  "  What 
will  you,  I  am  now  so  foolish  ?  "  Her  voice, 
veiled  at  first,  became  warmer  and  stronger, 
while  she  continued :  "  You  take  away 
summer  from  me,  and  offer  me  winter  as 
consolation — that  is,  you  ask  of  me  that 
I  should  refuse  everything  in  the  world 
that  blooms  and  bears  fruit,  only  because 
sometimes  a  devastating  thunderstorm 
bursts  over  this  wealth  of  beauty  and  life ! 
I  know  that  in  a  normal  winter  there  are  no 
thunderstorms,  and  in  spite  of  that  I  prefer 
the  summer! " 

"  But  it  is  a  tropical  summer  !  "  exclaimed 
Assanow. 

"  That  may  be,"  she  replied,  calmly ; 
"  but  for  that  very  reason  it  is  more  mag- 
nificent— yes,  even  because  of  the  dangers 
involved  in  it — more  magnificent  than  any 
other." 

He  stood  up.     "  It  is  useless  to  speak  to 


Asbe'in.  85 

you,"  said  he,  coldly ;  "  the  only  thing  that 
remains  for  me  is  to  speak  to  Lensky.  He 
has  a  clear  head  in  spite  of  all  his  genius. 
He  can  be  talked  over." 

Then  Natalie  was  startled  out  of  her 
proud  calm.  "  You  would  be  indelicate 
enough  to  say  to  him  what  you  have  said 
to  me  !  "  she  burst  out. 

"  In  such  cases  it  is  not  only  wisest, 
but  most  humane,  to  use  pure  prudence  in- 
stead of  foolish  sentimentality,"  announced 
Assanow ;  and,  bowing  to  his  sister  as  to  a 
stranger,  he  left,  with  all  his  vexation,  still 
elevated  by  the  thought  that  he  had  again 
had  opportunity  to  display  his  "  prudence  " 
in  a  brilliant  light.  He  loved  his  prudence 
as  an  artistic  capability,  and  was  glad  to 
give  proofs,  by  all  kinds  of  virtuoso  perform- 
ances, of  its  extent  and  unusual  pliability. 
Whether  these  productions  were  exactly 
suited  to  the  time  troubled  the  virtuoso 
little,  and  that  by  his  last  threat  he  had 
attained  exactly  the  opposite  with  Natalie 
from  what  he  wished,  did  not  occur  to  him 
at  all,  momentarily. 


86  Asbein. 

He  had  gone.  Natalie  still  stood  in  the 
middle  of  the  room,  her  hand  resting  on 
the  table,  and  trembling  in  her  whole  body. 
Suddenly  the  memory  of  the  "  musical  con- 
fession "  arose  in  her,  which  Lensky  had 
laid  before  her  the  morning  when  he  tried 
the  Amati,  the  confession  which  had  fright- 
ened her.  And  through  her  mind  vibrated, 
piercingly  and  cuttingly,  the  mysterious 
succession  of  tones  from  the  Arabian  folk- 
songs which  echoed  lamentingly  through 
all  his  compositions — the  devil's  music  : 
Asbein. 

As  long  as  she  had  to  defend  herself  from 
her  brother,  she  had  not  realized  how 
deeply  he  had  wounded  her.  She  felt  at 
once  miserable,  wounded,  and  discontented 
with  life — as  a  young  tree  must  feel,  over 
whose  fragrant  young  spring  blossoms  a  hail- 
storm has  passed.  Then  Lensky  came  in. 
He  perceived  in  a  moment  what  had  hap- 
pened.. 

"  They  have  tormented  you  on  my  ac- 
count," said  he.  "Poor  heart!  if  I  could 


Asbein.  87 

only  take  all  this  vexation  upon  my- 
self." 

She  smiled  at  him.  "  Then  I  would  not 
be  worthy  of  you,"  replied  she. 

He  drew  her  gently  toward  him.  Her 
discouragement  had  disappeared  ;  warm, 
strong  life  again  pulsated  in  her  veins. 

"  Everything  has  its  recompense,"  whis- 
pered she ;  "  it  is  sweet  to  bear  something 
for  any  one  whom " 

"  Well,  for  any  one  whom — please  finish," 
he  urged,  and  drew  her  closer  to  him. 

"  You  know  it  without." 

"  I  would  so  love  to  hear  you  say  it  once." 

She  raised  herself  on  tiptoes  and  whis- 
pered something  in  his  ear. 

He  held  her  tighter  and  tighter  to  him. 
"  Oh,  my  happiness,  my  queen  ! "  he  mur- 
mured, and  his  warm  lips  met  hers. 

She  felt  as  if  wrapped  in  a  sunbeam,  in  a 
warm,  animating  atmosphere,  through  which 
none  of  the  critical  sneers  and  opinions  of 
those  who  stood  without  the  consecrated 
magic  circle  of  love  could  penetrate. 


88  Asbe'in. 

Six  weeks  later  Natalie  and  Lensky  were 
married,  and  at  the  Russian  Embassy  in 
Vienna.  Her  dowry  consisted  of  a  very 
incomplete  trousseau,  in  part  lavishly 
trimmed  with  lace  ;  of  a  mortgaged  estate  in 
South  Russia  that  had  brought  in  no  rents  for 
three  years  ;  and  of  three  Cremona  violins. 

While  her  elder  brother  silently  concealed 
the  true  despair  which  the  marriage  caused 
him  behind  stiff  dignity,  the  younger,  an 
officer  of  the  guard,  with  a  becoming  talent 
for  arrogant  impertinences,  pleased  himself 
by  jesting  over  this  adventurous  marriage, 
and  describing  the  "  strange  taste  "  of  his 
sister,  with  a  shrug  of  the  shoulders,  as  a 
case  of  acute  monomania.  When  he  spoke 
of  his  brother-in-law,  he  called  him  nothing 
but  "  cette  b$te  sauvage  et  incticrottable" 
even  when  he  had  long  made  a  practice  of 
borrowing  money  of  him. 

Neither  of  Natalie's  brothers  or  her  mar- 
ried sister  appeared  at  her  wedding.  Only 
the  old  princess  accompanied  her  daughter 
to  the  altar. 


SECOND    BOOK. 

THEY  trifled  away  the  summer  on  the 
Italian  coast  and  in  Switzerland.  In  the 
autumn  Lensky  made  a  concert  tour 
through  Germany  and  the  Netherlands,  on 
which  his  young  wife  accompanied  him, 
and  attempted  with  humorous  zeal  to  ac- 
custom herself  to  the  role  of  an  artist's  wife. 
In  the  beginning  of  December  Lensky  and 
she  came  to  St.  Petersburg.  The  residence 
had  been  prepared  for  the  young  pair  by  a 
friend  of  Natalie.  Natalie  made  a  discon- 
tented face  when  she  entered  her  new  king- 
dom. How  new,  how  glaring,  how  unsuita- 
ble and  tasteless  everything  looked.  "  It  is 
as  if  one  bit  into  a  green  apple,"  said  she ; 
and  turning  to  Lensky  she  added,  gayly, 
with  a  shrug  of  her  shoulders  :  "  The  stupid 
Annette  did  not  know  any  better ;  but  do 


cp  Asbe'in. 

not  trouble  yourself.  In  a  couple  of  weeks 
it  will  be  different.  You  shall  see  how  com- 
fortably I  will  cushion  your  nest.  You 
must  feel  happy  in  it,  my  restless  eagle,  or 
else  you  will  fly  away  from  me.  What  ?  " 

She  said  this,  smiling  in  proud  conscious- 
ness of  his  passionate  love.  What  pleasure 
would  it  give  him  to  fly  away  ?  And  teas- 
ingly,  jestingly,  she  pushed  back  the  thick 
hair  from  his  temples. 

Ah,  how  pleasant  and  yet  tantalizing  was 
the  touch  of  her  slender,  delicate  fingers, 
which  made  him  at  once  nervous  and 
happy !  As  he  expressed  it,  it  "  almost 
made  him  jump  out  of  his  skin  with  rapt- 
ure." At  first  he  let  her  continue  her 
foolish,  tender  playfulness  to  her  heart's 
content ;  then  he  laughingly  put  himself 
on  the  defensive,  preached  a  more  digni- 
fied manner  to  her,  and  when  she  did 
not  yield,  but  gayly  continued  her  lovely, 
teasing  ways,  he  at  length  seized  her  vio- 
lently by  both  wrists  and  quite  crushed  her 
hands  with  kisses. 


Asbe'in.  91 

If  in  the  first  weeks  of  their  married  life 
both  had  been  quite  solemn,  thoughtful, 
and  confused  in  their  manner  to  each  other, 
now  they  often  frolicked  together  like  two 
gay  children. 

While  he  took  up  again  his  long-inter- 
rupted duties  at  the  Petersburg  Conserva- 
tory, she  built  him  "  his  nest."  She  did 
not  go  lavishly  to  work.  Oh,  no !  She 
knew  that  one  must  not  press  down  a 
young  artist  with  the  burden  of  material 
cares.  She  imagined  she  was  very  econom- 
ical. She  did  not  cease  to  wonder  over  the 
cheapness  with  which  she  could  get  every- 
thing that  was  needed,  beginning  with  the 
flowers — flowers  in  winter,  in  St.  Peters- 
burg! He  never  enlightened  her  as  to 
how  much  the  footing  on  which  she  main- 
tained her  "  simple  household  "  surpassed 
his  present  circumstances. 

Every  time  that  he  came  home  he  found 
a  new,  attractive  change.  She  accomplished 
great  things  in  artistic  arrangement  of  the 
so-called  "  confused  style,"  which  at  that 


92  Asbe'in. 

time  was  not  so  common  as  to-day,  but  was 
still  a  bold  innovation. 

"C'est  tres  joli,  mats  un  pen  trop  touffu" 
said  he  to  her  once  when  she  met  him,  quite 
particularly  conscious  of  victory  and  await- 
ing praise,  with  the  knowledge  of  a  new, 
costly  improvement  in  the  arrangement  of 
the  drawing-room. 

"  Yes,  my  love ;  but  a  drawing-room  is 
neither  an  official  audience-room  nor  a  gym- 
nasium," replied  she,  somewhat  offended. 

"  Nor  a  ball-room  nor  riding-school,"  com- 
pleted he,  jestingly ;  "  but — h'm — still  one 
should  be  able  to  move  in  it.  Do  you  not 
think  so?" 

"  That  is  as  one  looks  at  it.  I  have  noth- 
ing to  do  with  it  if  you  cannot  brandish 
around  too  freely  in  it." 

They  went  out  in  society  quite  frequently 
— in  Natalie's  society.  That  many  people, 
especially  Natalie's  near  relations,  made 
comments  on  the  marriage  of  the  spoiled 
child  of  a  prince  with  a  violinist  is  easily 


Asbetn.  93 

understood.  But  scarcely  had  they  seen 
Boris  and  his  young  wife  together  a  few 
times  when  the  comments  ceased.  A  full, 
true,  young  human  happiness  always  causes 
respect,  and,  like  every  achievement,  bears 
its  triumphant  justification  in  itself.  The 
leader  of  fashion,  Princess  Lydia  Petrovna 
B.,  declared  publicly,  and,  indeed,  in  the 
highest  court  circles,  that  in  her  opinion 
Natalie  had  acted  very  wisely. 

Countess  Sophie  Dimitrievna  went  a  step 
further  when  she  energetically  declared  that 
she  envied  Natalie.  From  that  time  every 
one  vied  in  feting  the  young  couple  and  dis- 
tinguishing them. 

They  both  enjoyed  society,  but  the  best 
part  of  it  was  not  entering  the  brilliantly 
illuminated  reception-rooms  or  being  sur- 
rounded by  wondering  strangers.  Oh,  no  ! 
the  best  of  all  was  the  last  quarter  of  an 
hour  before  they  left  their  home,  when 
Lensky,  already  in  evening  dress,  entered 
the  dressing-room  of  his  young  wife.  Each 
time  he  felt  anew  the  same  pleasant  excite- 


94  Asbein. 

ment  when  he,  slowly  turning  the  knob, 
after  a  teasing,  "  May  I  come  in,  Natalie  ?  " 
entered  the  cosey  room.  How  charming  and 
attractive  everything  was  there  !  The  room 
with  the  light  carpet  and  the  comfortable, 
not  too  numerous  articles  of  cretonne-up- 
holstered furniture ;  the  two  tiny  gold-em- 
broidered slippers  on  the  rough  bear-skin  in 
front  of  the  lounge ;  not  far  off,  Natalie's 
house-dress,  thrown  over  a  chair,  exhaling 
the  warmth  of  her  young,  fresh,  fragrant 
personality.  Then  there  on  the  toilet-table, 
with  clouds  of  white  muslin  over  the  pink 
lining,  and  with  sparkling  silver  and  crystal 
utensils,  a  pretty  confusion  of  half-opened 
white  lace  boxes,  and  on  the  table  dark 
velvet  jewel-cases.  The  pleasant,  mild,  and 
still  bright  light  of  many  pink  wax-candles, 
which  stood  about  in  high,  heavy  silver 
candelabra,  and  the  warm,  strange,  seduc- 
tive atmosphere  which  filled  the  whole 
room — an  atmosphere  which  was  permeated 
with  the  fragrance  of  greenhouse  flowers, 
burning  wax-candles,  and  the  pleasant, 


Asbem.  95 

subtle,  spicy  Indian  perfume  which  clung 
to  all  Natalie's  effects. 

And  there,  before  the  tall  cheval-glass, 
Natalie,  already  in  evening  toilet,  almost 
ready,  her  beautiful  arms  hanging  down  in 
pampered  helplessness  ;  behind  her  a  maid, 
just  finished  fastening  her  corsage,  and  a 
second,  with  a  three-branched  candelabra 
in  her  hand,  throwing  the  light  upon  her 
mistress. 

Was  that  really  his  wife  ?  This  splendid, 
queenly  being  in  the  white  silk  dress — she 
wore  white  silk  in  preference — really  the 
wife  of  the  violinist,  in  whose  life,  not  so 
far  back,  lay  all  kind  of  need,  humiliation, 
trouble  of  all  kind  ? 

Then  she  looked  around.  She  had  a 
charming  manner  of  holding  her  small  hands 
half  against  her  cheeks,  half  against  her 
neck,  and  turning  slowly  from  the  glass 
and  looking  at  him  with  lowered  eyelids, 
and  a  kind  of  mischievously  proud  and  yet 
tenderly  suppressed  consciousness  of  vic- 
tory. "  Are  you  satisfied,  Boris  ?  " 


g6  Asbe'tn. 

What  could  he  answer? 

"You  come  just  as  if  called,"  then  said 
she.  "  You  shall  put  the  hair-pins  in  my 
hair.  Katia  is  so  awkward."  Then  she  sat 
down  in  a  low  chair,  and  handed  him  the 
hair-pins.  They  were  wonderful  hair-pins, 
the  heads  of  which  were  narcissi  formed  of 
diamonds,  a  bridal  present  from  Lensky. 
He  took  them  with  gentle  fingers,  and  the 
celebrated  artist  was  proud  if  his  young 
wife  praised  him  for  the  taste  with  which 
he  fastened  her  diamonds  in  her  hair. 

"  Natalie  !  "  exclaimed  Boris,  in  a  tone  of 
the  greatest  surprise — a  surprise  made  up 
of  the  greatest  astonishment  and  not  of 
joy — "  you  here  ?  " 

It  was  in  his  study,  and  nine  o'clock  in 
the  morning.  At  this  hour,  daily,  in  crying 
opposition  to  his  former  proverbial  unreli- 
ability, he  had  long  been  sitting  at  his 
writing-table.  But  that  Natalie  should  leave 
her  bedroom  before  ten  o'clock  had  hitherto 
been  an  unheard-of  occurrence. 


Asbein.  97 

But  to-day,  just  as  he  was  about  to  go 
to  the  piano,  to  try  on  that  modest  repre- 
sentative of  an  orchestra  a  completed  musi- 
cal phrase,  he  discovered  her.  Quite  unob- 
served, she  had  mischievously  crept  in, 
and  now  crouched  comfortably  in  a  large 
arm-chair,  which  formed  a  very  picturesque 
frame  for  her  silk  wrapper,  bordered  with 
black  fur.  She  sat  on  one  foot  ;  one  tiny 
gold-embroidered  Caucasian  slipper  lay 
before  her  on  the  floor,  and  she  smiled 
tenderly  at  her  husband  with  her  great, 
proud  eyes.  But  the  pride  disappeared  from 
her  glance  at  his  ejaculation,  an  ejaculation 
which  expressed  so  much  perplexity,  so 
little  joy.  She  started  and,  embarrassed, 
reached  out  for  her  slipper  with  the  tip  of 
her  foot. 

"  Do  I  disturb  you  ? "  she  asked,  anx- 
iously. "  Must  I  go?" 

Formerly  he  could  not  bear  to  have  any 
one  about  him  when  he  worked.     His  face 
wore  a  forced,  smiling  expression,  while  he 
assured  her : 
7 


98  Asbe'in. 

"  Oh,  not  in  the  slightest — pray  sit  down." 
Whereupon  he  pushed  his  chair  up  to  hers. 

"  Oh,  if  you  are  going  to  treat  me  so ! " 
said  she. 

"  How,  then  ?  "  asked  he. 

"  Like — like  any  visitor,"  she  burst  out, 
and  hastened  to  the  door.  He  brought  her 
back.  Then  he  saw  that  her  eyes  were  full 
of  tears. 

"  But  what  is  the  matter  ?  " 
.     "  I  am  ashamed  of  my  intrusion,  that  is 
all.      Adieu — I    will    not   disturb   you    fur- 
ther! " 

With  that  she  wished  to  free  herself  from 
him.  But  that  was  not  so  easy.  He  took 
her,  struggling  in  his  arms  like  a  child,  and 
carried  her  back  by  force  to  the  immense 
chair  which  they  had  left.  "  So  now,  sit 
there,  and  don't  spoil  my  mood,  you  witch. 
Why  should  I  not  enjoy  your  company  for 
a  little?  Do  you  think,  then,  that  I  am  not 
glad  to  see  you  ?  But  you  do  not  expect 
that  I  should  bend  over  the  table,  and  spoil 
paper,  while  a  charming  little  woman  sits 


Asbein.  99 

behind  me  ?  The  temptation  to  talk  to  you 
is  too  great." 

She  shook  her  head.  "  You  wish  to  be 
good  to  me,  but  you  pain  me,"  murmured 
she.  And  she  added,  flatteringly,  "  Can  you 
really  not  work  when  I  am  with  you  ?  " 

"  Would  you  like  it  if  I  could  ?  "  he  asked, 
and  looked  at  her  with  a  quite  new,  pene- 
trating expression  in  his  eyes. 

He  drew  his  brows  together  humorously  ; 
he  was  now  kneeling  before  her,  and  held 
both  her  hands  in  his.  "  You  are  not  only  a 
charming  little  woman,  Natalie,"  said  he, 
"  but,  what  very  few  such  beautiful  and 
seductive  women  are,  of  a  good  heart.  But 
still  I  have  noticed  one  thing  in  you,  namely, 
that  you  do  not  like  to  be  second  anywhere. 
And,  do  you  see,  everywhere  else  you  are 
not  only  the  first,  but  the  only  one  in  the 
world  for  me  ;  but  here,  Natalie,  here  it 
must  please  you  that  I  should  forget  you 
for  my  art !  " 

"  And  do  you  think  that  I  would  wish 
it  otherwise  ? "  said  she,  and  there  was  an 


ioo  Asbein. 

earnest,  solemn  expression  in  her  eyes 
which  he  never  forgot.  "  Oh,  you  blind 
one,  you  do  not  yet  know  me  at  all.  Do 
not  kneel  there  like  a  hero  in  a  romance; 
in  the  long  run,  it  looks  not  only  awkward 
but  uncomfortable.  Sit  down  by  me — there 
is  room  enough  in  this  immense  chair  for 
us  both.  So  !  and  now — now  I  will  con- 
fess to  you  what  I  have  already  so  long 
had  on  my  heart.  Do  you  see,  you  love 
me,  I  do  not  doubt  that,  how  should  I  ? 
but — do  not  be  angry  with  me — sometimes 
I  wish  that  you  loved  me  differently ;  I 
wish  to  be  not  only  your  petted  wife,  your 
plaything " 

"  My  plaything !  "  he  interrupted  her,  very 
reproachfully.  "  Oh,  Natalie  !  my  sanctu- 
ary !" 

"  Well,  then,  as  far  as  I  am  concerned, 
your  sanctuary.  That,  looked  at  in  one 
light,  is  also  only  a  plaything,  even  if  of 
the  most  distinguished  kind."  She  laughed 
somewhat  constrainedly.  "  It  is  certainly 
immoderate,"  she  continued,  and  hesitated 


Asbein,  101 

a  little,  "  horribly  immoderate,  but  still  it 
is  so — I — I  do  not  want  to  be  only  your 
plaything,  but  also  your  friend — do  not  be 
horrified  at  this  audacity — yes,  your  friend, 
your  confidante.  I  wish  to  be  the  first  to 
share  your  newly  arising  thoughts.  Lately, 
it  has  often  hurt  me  that  you  busy  yourself 
so  much  with  all  kinds  of  trifles  only  to  give 
me  pleasure.  I  know  it  is  my  fault ;  at  first 
I  was  afraid  of  your  genius,  which  soared 
heavenward,  and  wished  to  accustom  you 
to  the  earth,  and  chain  you  close  to  me. 
But  then — then  I  was  ashamed  of  my  small- 
ness — ah,  so  ashamed.  You  shall  not  stoop 
down  to  me ;  let  me  try  to  rise  to  you. 
Spread  out  your  mighty  wings,  and  fly  up 
to  the  stars,  but  take  me  with  you  !  " 

He  could  not  speak — only  kisses  burned 
on  his  lips.  He  pressed  them  on  her 
wonderful  eyes,  whose  holy  light  humili- 
ated him.  Then,  after  a  while,  he  mur- 
mured, softly  :  "  You  are  nearer  the  stars 
than  I,  Natalie.  Show  me  the  way,  show 
me  the  way !  " 


IO2  Asbein. 

From  then,  she  daily  passed  a  couple  of 
hours  in  his  study.  How  happy  she  felt  in 
the  great,  airy  room,  which  was  almost  as 
empty  as  a  shed.  In  here  she  had  not  vent- 
ured with  her  soft,  seductive,  decorative  arts. 
All  had  remained  as  sober  and  plain  as  he 
had  always  been  accustomed  to  have  his  sur- 
roundings while  at  work.  High  shelves  al- 
most breaking  under  their  weight  of  music, 
a  piano,  a  couple  of  stringed  instruments, 
the  arm-chair  in  which  he  had  established 
her,  and  two  or  three  cane-bottomed  chairs 
constituted  the  whole  furniture.  On  the 
writing-table  stood  a  picture  of  Natalie, 
painted  in  water-colors  by  a  young  French 
artist  in  Rome.  The  room  could  show  no 
other  ornament.  Still,  there  in  the  dark- 
est corner  hung  a  single  laurel-wreath.  No 
large  one,  such  as  one  lays  to-day  at  the  feet 
of  great  artists,  but  poor  and  small,  and  in 
the  middle  of  the  wreath,  in  a  common 
wooden  frame,  drawn  with  a  hard  lead-pen- 
cil, the  face  of  a  woman,  with  a  white  cloth 
on  her  head,  from  beneath  which  fine,  curly 


Asbe'in.  103 

hair  fell  over  the  forehead.  Without  being 
beautiful,  the  face  was  strangely  attractive, 
and  Natalie  would  have  liked  to  ask  the 
history  of  the  laurel-wreath  and  the  pict- 
ure. But  she  did  not  venture  to.  She 
never,  by  a  single  question,  touched  upon 
Lensky's  past. 

He  only  continued  to  remain  in  solitude 
during  the  hours  which  he  devoted  to  tech- 
nical practice.  At  other  times  he  quietly 
let  her  stay.  She  sat  behind  him,  quite 
soberly  and  still,  in  the  large,  worn-out 
patriarchal  chair,  and  did  not  breathe  a 
word.  She  never  even  took  a  book  in  her 
hand,  for  fear  of  irritating  him  by  the  rat- 
tling of  turning  pages,  but  busied  herself 
with  pretty,  noiseless  handiwork. 

The  feeling  of  her  presence  was  unend- 
ingly sweet  to  him.  His  whole  activity 
was  increased  ;  he  worked  more  intently 
than  formerly.  A  fulness  of  music  vibrated 
in  his  head  and  heart.  And  if  the  inward 
vibrations  became  too  dreamily  sweet,  too 
luxuriant  and  exuberant,  he  stopped  writ- 


IO4  Asbein. 

ing,  sat  awhile  in  silence,  and  then,  without 
taking  the  slightest  notice  of  Natalie,  walked 
up  and  down  a  couple  of  times,  hummed 
something  to  himself,  made  a  sweeping  gest- 
ure, in  conclusion  took  up  the  violin — 
then — 

Natalie  raised  her  head  and  listened — 
how  wonderful  that  sounded  !  He  had  un- 
learned the  madness,  but  still  in  his  mel- 
odies always  sounded  the  strange  Arabian 
succession  of  tones,  the  devil's  music : 
Asbein ! 

She  became,  as  she  had  wished,  the  con- 
fidante of  his  work.  When  he  had  sketched 
on  paper  the  plan  of  a  composition,  he 
played  it  to.  her,  now  on  his  violin,  which 
he  passionately  loved,  now  on  the  piano, 
which  he  did  not  love ;  for  its  short  tone, 
incapable  of  development,  repulsed  him, 
but  which  he  respected  and  made  use  of 
as  the  most  complete  of  all  instruments. 
Although  he  played  the  piano,  not  with 
virtuosity,  but  with  the  helplessness  of  the 
composer,  he  could  still  bring  out  some- 


Asbein.  105 

thing  of  the  "  warm  tone  "  which  made  his 
violin  irresistible. 

How  eagerly  she  listened  to  his  composi- 
tions !  How  much  she  rejoiced  in  them, 
and  how  severe  she  was  to  him  !  She  would 
not  let  him  pass  over  a  single  musical  flaw. 
That  she  rejoiced  and  wept  over  the  beau- 
ties in  his  compositions,  that  she  boldly 
placed  his  genius  near  Beethoven  and  Schu- 
mann, that  is  to  say,  near  what  she  ranked 
highest  in  the  world,  that  was  another 
thing  !  For  that  reason  she  was  so  severe. 
He  laughed  at  her  sometimes  for  her  tender 
delusion.  Then  she  took  his  head  between 
her  hands,  and  said,  triumphantly  :  "  That 
is  all  very  well ;  only  wait  a  little  while, 
then  the  whole  world  will  say  that  you  have 
been  the  last  musical  poet :  the  others  are 
only  bunglers." 

In  the  beginning  of  March  he  made  a 
short  artist  tour  through  the  interior  of 
Russia.  Naturally,  he  could  not  drag  her 
around  with  him,  for  she  could  not  endure 


io6  Asbe'tn. 

the  exhausting  fatigues  of  his  quick  jour- 
neys, especially  at  that  time.  But  how  hor- 
rible, how  unbearable  the  parting  seemed  to 
him  !  He  wrote  her  every  day.  His  writ- 
ing was  ugly  and  irregular,  his  orthography 
as  deficient  in  French  as  in  Russian ;  but 
what  tenderness,  what  passion  and  poetry 
spoke  from  every  uncultured,  stormily  writ- 
ten line.  No  one  could  better  impress  his 
whole  heart  in  a  short,  insignificant  letter 
than  he  ;  and  what  rapture,  what  wild,  al- 
most painful  rapture  at  seeing  her  again  ! 
She  had  missed  him  much  less  than  he 
had  missed  her.  He  reproached  her  for  it, 
complained  that  the  new  love  which  now 
began  to  fill  her  whole  existence  left  no 
place  for  the  old.  But  then  she  measured 
him  with  such  a  tender,  and,  at  the  same 
time,  a  so  deeply  hurt  look,  that  he  was 
ashamed. 

"  You  must  not  take  it  so,"  he  whispered 
to  her,  appeasingly.  "  It  is  an  old  story 
that  if  two  hearts  hasten  forward  together 
in  a  race  of  love,  one  will  naturally  outdo 


Asbe'in.  107 

the  other,  and  still  will  be  vexed  that  it  is 
so.  But  it  is  quite  natural  and  in  order 
that  I  should  cling  more  to  you  than  you  to 
me." 

She  smiled  quite  sadly.  "  We  will  see 
who  will  win  the  race  in  the  end,"  murmured 
she. 

Natalie  no  longer  went  into  society.  Her 
health  was  much  impaired.  She  passed  the 
entire  month  of  April  stretched  on  her 
lounge,  in  loose  wrappers.  She  now  re- 
proached herself  with  having  been  foolish 
not  to  have  spared  herself  before.  The  time 
of  tormenting  fancy  approached  for  the 
young  wife,  the  time  of  concealed  anxiety 
for  them  both.  In  spite  of  the  consoling 
assurances  of  the  physician,  Lensky  was  no 
longer  himself,  from  anxiety  and  despair. 
But  he  did  not  let  her  notice  it.  When  he 
was  with  her  he  had  always  a  gay  smile  on 
his  lips  and  a  droll  story  for  her  diversion. 
He  cared  for  her  like  a  mother. 

Then,  toward  the  end  of  May,  came  the 


io8  Asbe'in. 

most  tormenting  hour  he  had  ever  lived 
through,  until  at  last — when  he  already 
believed  that  all  hope  was  lost — a  little, 
thin,  shrill  sound  smote  his  ear.  It  startled 
him,  his  heart  beat  loudly ;  still  he  did  not 
venture  to  move,  but  listened,  until  at  last 
the  doctor  came  out  of  the  adjoining  room, 
and  called  to  him  :  "  All  is  over." 

He  misunderstood  the  words.  "  She  is 
dead  !  "  he  gasped. 

"  No,  no  !  Boris  Nikolaivitch ;  everything 
is  as  well  as  possible.  Come  !  " 

He  felt  as  would  a  man  buried  alive,  if 
one  should  raise  the  lid  from  his  coffin. 

At  the  door  of  the  bedroom  a  fat  old 
woman,  with  a  large  cap,  came  toward  him. 
"  A  son,  a  very  fine  young  one  !  "  said  she, 
triumphantly,  while  she  laid  something  tiny 
and  rosy,  wrapped  in  white  cloth  and  lace, 
in  his  arms. 

Tears  fell  from  his  eyes,  and  his  hands 
trembled  so  that  the  nurse  was  horrified 
and  took  the  child  away  from  him. 

He  went  up  to  Natalie,  who,  deathly  pale 


Asbein.  109 

and  exhausted,  but  with  a  lovely,  indescrib- 
able expression  on  her  face,  at  once  of  ten- 
derness and  of  a  certain  solemn  pride,  lay 
among  the  high-piled  pillows.  Quite  softly, 
with  a  kind  of  timidity  which  his  violent 
love  had  hitherto  never  known,  he  pressed 
her  pale  hand  to  his  lips. 

"Are  you  content?"  she  whispered, 
dreamily  and  scarcely  audibly.  "  Are  you 
content  ?  " 

She  recovered  rapidly.  Her  beauty  had 
lost  none  of  its  charm,  but  had  rather  won 
an  earnest — one  might  almost  say  consecrat- 
ed— loveliness. 

Her  face  reflected  her  happiness.  That 
also  had  become  a  shade  deeper,  nobler.  In 
spite  of  all  her  pampered  habits,  she  insisted 
upon  caring  for  the  child  herself.  He  let 
her  have  her  way. 

The  former  dressing-room  was  changed  to 
a  nursery.  Sometimes,  in  the  long,  trans- 
parent twilight  of  the  spring,  he  entered  the 
room  in  which,  in  winter,  he  had  passed  so 


1 10  Asbein. 

many  charming  hours  by  candle-light,  and 
where  now  everything  was  so  changed.  A 
cradle  stood  in  the  place  which  formerly 
the  toilet-table  had  occupied — ah,  what  a 
cradle — a  dream  of  a  cradle !  A  basket  with 
a  canopy  of  green  silk,  hung  with  a  long, 
transparent  lace  veil,  a  costly  nest  for  a 
young  bird  whose  little  eyes  must  be 
shielded,  by  all  kinds  of  tender  devices,  from 
the  bright  light,  which  perhaps  later  would 
pain  him  so ! 

The  air,  quite  filled  with  a  pleasant,  mild, 
damp  vapor,  was  permeated  by  a  weak 
perfume  of  iris  and  warming  linen,  and, 
besides  that,  with  something  quite  strange, 
quite  peculiarly  sweet,  stirring — the  breath 
of  a  healthy,  fresh,  carefully  cared-for  little 
child. 

And  there,  where  the  cheval-glass  had 
formerly  reflected  to  him  the  lovely  form 
of  a  proud  queen  of  beauty,  now  sat  in 
the  same  large  arm-chair,  a  tender  young 
mother,  her  child  on  her  breast.  The  lines 
of  her  neck,  from  which  the  loose,  white 


Asbein.  1 1 1 

dress  had  slipped  down  a  little  so  that  the 
outline  of  the  shoulders  was  visible,  was 
charming ;  but  what  was  it,  to  the  lovely, 
attentive  expression  with  which  she  looked 
down  at  the  child  ? 

Everything  about  her  expressed  tender- 
ness :  her  look,  her  smile,  the  hands  with 
which  she  held  the  child  to  her.  It  was 
just  these  small,  white  hands  which  Lensky 
could  not  cease  to  observe.  How  helpless 
they  had  formerly  been — and  now !  She 
would  scarcely  let  the  nurse  touch  baby. 
He  was  never  weary  of  watching  how  un- 
tiringly she  touched  the  tiny,  frail  body  of 
the  infant,  and  did  a  thousand  services  for 
it  which  all  resembled  caresses. 

"  It  is  all  very  beautiful,  but  you  have  a 
manner  of  ignoring  me  in  this  little  king- 
dom," said  Lensky,  jokingly,  to  the  young 
mother,  while  he  threw  a  look  of  humorous 
vexation  at  the  young  despot  whom  she 
just  laid  in  the  cradle. 

She  bent  her  head  a  little  to  one  side, 


H2  Asbein. 

and  whispered  roguishly,  while  she  came 
up  to  him  and  played  with  the  lapel  of  his 
coat :  "  Do  you  see,  Boris,  this  is  my  study. 
Everywhere  else  you  are  not  only  the  first 
but  the  only  one  in  the  world  for  me ;  but 
here  you  must  be  content  if  I  sometimes 
forget  you  for  my  calling." 

He  laughed. 

"  Do  you  know  that  you  once  said  some- 
thing similar  to  me ;  that  time  when  I,  for 
the  first  time,  dared  to  enter  your  sanctu- 
ary?" she  murmured,  and  repeated  petu- 
lantly :  "  Do  you  know  it  ?  " 

He  kissed  both  of  her  hands,  one  after 
the  other.  "  Do  you  then  believe  that  I 
could  ever  forget  such  a  thing,  my  angel  ?  " 
whispered  he.  "  I  am  no  such  spendthrift ; 
oh,  no !  If  you  knew  how  I  cherish  this 
dear  remembrance !  That  is  pure  happi- 
ness which  we  will  keep  for  our  old  days, 
when  the  sun  no  longer  seems  to  us  to 
shine  as  brightly,  and  we  must  light  a  poor 
candle  in  order  to  find  our  path  again  to  a 
suitable  grave." 


Asbem.  113 

Natalie  still  thought  of  the  poor  laurel 
wreath  in  his  study.  But  she  did  not  ven- 
ture to  ask  him  a  direct  question  about  it. 

He  himself,  of  his  own  accord,  at  last 
told  her  the  history  of  the  pitiful  relic. 

He  had  never  spoken  to  her  of  his  child- 
hood, but  once  a  great  impulse  came  over 
him  to  tell  her  the  whole ;  to  lay  bare  be- 
fore her  all  the  pitiableness  of  his  past. 
What  would  she  then  say  to  it  ? 

It  was  a  clear  summer  night,  out  on  the 
terrace  of  the  country  house  near  St. 
Petersburg,  which  they  had  hired  for  the 
summer,  the  terrace  which  looked  out  on 
the  small  but  pretty  and  shady  garden. 
They  sat  there,  hand  in  hand ;  around 
them  the  dull,  gray  light  of  a  day  that  will 
not  die,  sweet  perfume  of  flowers,  and  in 
the  tree  tops  the  gentle  rustling  of  the  kiss- 
ing leaves.  She  talked  of  gay,  insignificant 
things ;  gave  him  a  droll,  laughing  descrip- 
tion of  a  visit  to  one  of  her  friends.  At 
first  it  amused  him  ;  then  something,  he 
could  not  have  said  what,  irritated  him 


114  Asbein. 

against  this  monstrous  principle  of  gliding 
so  triflingly  and  mockingly  through  life 
without  ever  glancing  into  it  more  deeply. 

"What  would  she  say  if  she  knew?" 
thought  he.  "  Perhaps  she  would  shun 
me  !  "  A  kind  of  madness  overcame  him. 
He  felt  the  wish  to  risk  his  happiness  in 
order  to  convince  himself  of  its  durability, 
to  put  his  petted  wife  to  the  test.  "  How 
you  butterflies,  floating  over  flowers  in  the 
sunshine,  must  be  horrified  at  the  miser- 
able worms  who  creep  over  the  earth  !  "  he 
began  bitterly. 

"  What  are  you  thinking  of  ?  "  asked  she, 
astonished. 

"  Nothing  especial,  only  that  I  was  origi- 
nally just  such  a  worm,  creeping  over  the 
earth." 

"  Ah !  that  is  long  past ! "  she  inter- 
rupted him  hastily.  She  wished  to  keep 
him  from  long  dwelling  on  an  unpleasant 
thought,  but  he  suspected  that  his  insinua- 
tion of  his  humble  antecedents  vexed  her, 
and  that  she  felt  the  need  of  forgetting  his 


Asbc'in.  \  \  5 

derivation.  He  looked  at  her  from  head 
to  foot,  with  an  angry,  wondering  glance. 
Her  richly  embroidered  white  dress,  the 
large  diamonds  in  her  ears, — how  the  dia- 
monds sparkled  in  the  dull  evening  light! 

Then  he  began  to  speak  of  his  child- 
hood, dryly,  with  a  smile  on  his  lips  as  if  it 
was  a  question  of  something  quite  indiffer- 
ent and  amusing. 

In  a  large  tenement  at  Moscow,  over- 
crowded with  all  kinds  of  human  vermin, 
had  he  grown  up  ;  in  the  half  of  a  room 
that  was  divided  by  a  sail,  behind  which 
another  poor  family  hungered.  His  father 
he  did  not  remember.  His  mother  sang  to 
the  guitar  in  wine  rooms.  When  he  was 
five  years  old  she  had  bought  him  a  fiddle 
for  four  rubles,  and  then  some  one,  a  disso- 
lute musician,  who  often  came  to  them, 
had  taught  him  to  scrape  on  it  a  little. 
From  that  time  he  accompanied  his  mother 
when  she  sang  in  the  wine  rooms, — or  even 
on  the  streets,  as  it  happened. 

She  had  been  pretty ;  the  drawing  which 


Ii6  Asbe'in. 

hung  in  the  laurel  wreath,  and  which  an 
artist  in  their  horrible  dwelling-place  had 
made  of  her,  was  like  her.  Only  she  had 
quite  unusually  beautiful  teeth  which  one 
could  not  see  in  the  picture.  He  remem- 
bered these  teeth  very  well,  because  she 
laughed  so  much,  especially  if  there  was 
little  to  eat  and  she  made  him  take  it  all, 
and  declared  she  had  spoiled  her  appetite 
at  a  friend's  house  with  fresh  pirogj.  Once 
the  thought  had  occurred  to  him  that  she 
only  said  so  because  there  was  not  enough 
for  two,  and  then  he  could  not  eat  any- 
thing more.  If  there  was  nothing  at  all  to 
eat,  either  for  him  or  for  her,  she  told  him 
a  story. 

Had  he  loved  her  ?  Yes,  he  believed  so 
— how  could  it  be  otherwise  ?  But  the  con- 
sciousness of  what  she  really  had  been  to 
him  only  came  to  him  when  he  was  no 
longer  with  her.  How  that  happened  he 
really  did  not  know,  but  one  fine  day  she 
took  him  in  a  part  of  the  city  which  he  had 
never  known  until  then,  in  a  handsome 


Asbein.  117 

residence  that  seemed  so  beautiful  to  him 
that  he  only  ventured  to  go  around  on  tip- 
toes. At  the  door  a  fat,  yellow  man,  with 
long,  greasy,  black  hair,  received  him,  and 
told  his  mother  it  was  all  right.  Then  she 
kissed  him  a  last  time,  told  him  she  would 
take  him  away  in  an  hour,  and  went. 

He  was  taken  in  a  room  with  gay  furni- 
ture, and  there  greeted  by  a  fat  woman 
with  a  thick  gold  chain  over  the  bosom  of 
her  violet  silk  dress,  and  with  rings  on  all 
her  short,  stumpy,  wrinkled  fingers,  and 
was  entertained  with  tea,  cake,  and  honey. 
He  had  never  before  enjoyed  a  similar  re- 
past. He  felt  in  an  elevated  frame  of  mind. 

When  the  fat  man — he  was  a  mediocre 
musician  who  had  married  a  rich  merchant's 
daughter,  who  gave  him  none  of  her  money, 
however — told  him  that  he  should  always 
stay  with  him,  and  never  go  back  to  his 
mother,  he  was  glad,  and  felt  the  conscious- 
ness of  having  taken  a  step  forward  in  the 
world. 

Did    that    surprise    Natalie?      He    could 


ii8  Asbe'in. 

not  help  it,  it  was  still  so.  "  Strange  what 
roughness  men  show  before  a  little  bit  of 
civilization  has  taught  them  to  conceal  it," 
he  added  reflectively. 

Did  he  not  feel  anxiety  later  ?  Natalie 
wished  to  know.  Yes,  for  his  new  life  con- 
tained nothing  of  that  which  he  had  prom- 
ised himself.  That  he  should  live  in  the 
beautiful  rooms  with  the  master  and  mis- 
tress and  eat  with  them,  as  he  had  thought 
at  first,  had  been  an  illusion.  Only  the  two 
children  of  the  fat  daughter  of  the  mer- 
chant could  tumble  around  on  the  sofas, 
with  their  fiery-red,  woolen,  damask  cover- 
ing, and  could  help  themselves  from  all  the 
dishes. 

He  lived  on  charity  ;  they  told  him  that 
every  day.  The  musician  had  bought  him 
of  his  mother  for  fifty  rubles,  as  Lensky 
afterward  learned,  as  a  speculation,  in 
order  to  make  money  out  of  him  as  a  prod- 
igy. The  time  which  he  did  not  devote 
to  his  musical  practice  he  must  spend  help- 
ing the  maid  in  the  kitchen. 


Asbe'in.  119 

He  slept,  with  an  old  sofa  pillow  under 
his  head,  on  the  floor,  in  a  gloomy  little 
room,  without  window,  only  with  dirty 
panes  of  glass  in  the  door — a  room  in  which 
the  cook  put  all  kinds  of  rubbish.  Damp- 
ness ran  down  the  walls,  and  every  even- 
ing from  all  corners  crept  out  a  whole 
regiment  of  black  beetles,  and  spread  them- 
selves over  the  boards.  The  food  ?  Well, 
it  was  sparing.  Sometimes  he  only  re- 
ceived what  the  family  had  left  on  their 
plates. 

Was  he  not  angry  at  this  treatment? 
No.  He  found  it  quite  in  order  at  that 
time.  The  well-fed,  warmly  dressed  people 
impressed  him,  especially  the  cap  of  Vau- 
vara  Ivanovna — that  was  the  name  of  his 
mistress.  He  felt  a  respectful  shudder  pass 
over  him  every  time  he  saw  this  structure 
of  blonde,  red  flowers,  and  green  ribbon. 
Except  the  Kremlin,  nothing  impressed 
him  so  much  as  this  house. 

When  the  whole  family,  in  festival  attire, 
went  to  church  on  Sunday,  he  stood  at  the 


I2O  Asbe'in. 

door,  quite  oppressed  by  the  feeling  of 
modest  wonder,  and  looked  after  the  well- 
dressed,  well-fed  people.  He  did  his  best 
to  make  himself  useful  and  agreeable,  and 
to  please  them.  Yes,  he  was  just  so  small 
and  pitiable,  as  a  half-starved  six-year-old 
pigmy.  And  then,  in  conclusion,  one  day 
he  simply  could  bear  it  no  longer  and  ran 
back  to  his  mother.  He  found  the  way. 
With  that  quite  Animal  sense  of  locality 
and  traces,  which  only  children  of  the 
lowest  classes  of  men  have,  he  found  it. 
His  mother  was  at  home ;  she  was  fright- 
ened when  she  saw  him.  Had  they  turned 
him  out?  Yes,  she  was  frightened.  In  the 
first  moment  she  was  frightened ;  then — 
here  Lensky  stammered  in  his  confession — 
naturally  she  was  glad ;  for,  what  use  of 
losing  words  ? — naturally  she  was  glad. 
How  she  kissed  him  and  caressed  him  with 
her  poor,  rough,  toil-worn,  and  still  such 
gentle,  warm  hands.  He  still  felt  her 
hands  sometimes  on  him,  in  dreams,  espe- 
cially behind  his  ears  and  on  his  neck. 


As  be  in.  121 

Then  she  fed  him.  She  spread  a  red  and 
white  flowered  cloth  over  the  table  in  his 
honor,  and  after  that  she  gave^him  a  holy 
picture.  Then  she  said  it  could  not  be 
otherwise;  he  must  go  back  to  Simon 
Ephremitsch ;  it  was  for  his  own  good. 
When  he  had  become  a  great  artist,  then 
he  would  come  to  fetch  her  in  a  coach  with 
four  horses. 

That  impressed  him.  And  in  order  to 
calm  him  completely,  she  promised  to  visit 
him  very  soon. 

But  she  did  not  come ;  and  when  he  ran 
back  to  her,  after  about  a  month,  she  was 
no  longer  in  her  old  abode ;  he  never  found 
her!  Soon  afterward  she  sent  him  two 
pretty  little  shirts,  delicately  embroidered 
in  red  and  blue.  But  she  herself  did  not 
come.  Never! 

At  his  first  appearance  in  public — he  had 
performed  his  piece  with  the  anxious  assi- 
duity of  a  little  monkey  that  fears  a  blow, 
he  asserted — to  his  great  astonishment,  he 
was  applauded.  In  the  midst  of  the  hand- 


122  Asbe'in. 

clapping  he  suddenly  heard  a  sob.  He  was 
convinced  that  his  mother  had  been  at  the 
concert. 

At  the  conclusion  they  handed  him  a 
laurel  wreath,  the  same  which  now  hung  in 
his  room ;  quite  a  poor  woman  had  brought 
it,  they  said.  He  guessed  immediately 
that  the  wreath  came  from  his  mother; 
and  suddenly,  just  as  a  couple  of  music- 
lovers  had  stepped  on  the  stage,  in  order  to 
see  the  wonderful  little  animal  near  by,  he 
began  to  stamp  his  feet  and  clench  his  fists, 
to  scream  and  to  sob,  until  every  one  crowd- 
ed around  him.  His  principal  threatened 
him  with  blows ;  a  very  pretty  young  lady 
in  a  blue-silk  dress  took  him  on  her  lap  to 
quiet  him  ;  but  alt  was  of  no  use. 

He  saw  his  mother  once  more — in  her 
coffin. 

His  benefactor  told  him  that  she  was 
dead,  and  that,  after  all,  it  was  suitable 
that  he  should  show  her  the  last  honors. 
The  coffin  stood  on  a  table,  surrounded  by 
thin,  poorly-burning  candles,  and  she  lay 


Asbeln.  123 

within,  so  small  and  thin,  her  hands  folded 
on  her  breast,  in  a  poor  shroud,  that  they 
had  bought  ready  made  for  a  few  co- 
pecks. 

In  the  beginning,  Natalie  had  interrupted 
him  with  questions,  but  now  she  had  long 
been  silent.  He  looked  at  her  challenging- 
ly,  at  every  pitiful,  repulsive  detail,  espe- 
cially if  it  brought  forward  a  trace  of  his 
own  insignificance.  It  was  quite  as  if  he 
expressly  tried  to  pain  her.  But  when  he 
came  to  speak  of  the  death  of  his  mother, 
whose  form,  in  the  midst  of  his  glaring, 
sharp  description,  he  drew  so  tenderly  and 
vaguely,  obliterating  everything  disturbing, 
as  if  he  saw  her,  in  remembrance,  only 
through  tears,  he  closed  his  eyes. 

Suddenly  he  heard  near  him  a  sup- 
pressed sound  of  pain,  then  something  like 
the  falling  of  the  over-abundant  load  of 
blossoms  from  a  tree  among  whose  spring 
adornment  there  yet  moves  no  breath  of 
air. 

He  started,  looked  up — there  was  Natalie 


124  Asbein. 

on  her  knees  before  him,  the  beauty,  the 
queenly,  proud  one,  and  had  embraced  him 
with  both  arms,  as  if  she  would  shield  him 
from  all  the  woes  of  earth,  and  sobbed  as 
if  she  could  not  console  herself  for  his  past 
suffering. 

"  Natalie !  my  angel,  do  you  really  love 
me  so?" 

"  One  cannot  love  you  enough,  or  recom- 
pense you  enough  for  all  that  you  have 
missed,"  whispered  she. 

And  he  had  really  for  one  moment  sus- 
pected that 

He  raised  her  on  his  knees.  They  did 
not  speak  another  word.  Through  the  gar- 
den at  their  feet  the  birches  rustled  in  the 
mild  night  breeze,  and  from  the  distance 
one  heard  the  sad  voice  of  a  marsh  bird, 
who  with  heavy  beating  wings  flew  to  the 
neighboring  pond. 

The  most  beautiful  love  will  always  be 
that  which  has  been  sanctified  by  a  great 
compassion.  In  that  mild  summer  night, 
while  all  around  them  was  fragrance  and 


Asbe'in.  125 

veiled  light,  Natalie's  love  had  received  its 
consecration. 

Three,  four  years  passed  ;  a  second  little 
child  lay  in  the  pretty,  veiled  cradle,  from 
which  little  Nikolai  first  made  his  solemn 
observation  of  the  world — a  dear  little 
plump  maiden,  whom  they  baptized  Mascha, 
after  the  grandmother,  and  whom  Boris  par- 
ticularly idolized.  There  was  still  nothing 
to  report  of  Natalie's  married  life  but  love, 
happiness,  and  beauty.  Lensky  kept  every 
unpleasant  impression  far  from  her,  sur- 
rounded her  with  the  most  touching  care, 
overwhelmed  her  with  the  most  poetic  at- 
tentions. Her  life  at  his  side  unrolled  itself 
like  a  long,  secret,  passionate  love-poem. 

Natalie's  family  had  reconciled  themselves 
to  her  marriage.  Even  for  the  wise  and  ar- 
rogant Sergei  Alexandrovitch  it  had  the 
appearance  that  he  had  been  mistaken  in 
his  discouraging  prediction,  as  happens  even 
to  the  wisest  men,  if  with  their  predictions 
they  have  only  the  sober  probability  in  view, 


126  Asbein. 

without  thinking  of  the  possibility  of  some 
underlying  miracle.  After  four  years  of 
married  life  Natalie  was  as  happy  as  a  bride. 

Still,  Lensky's  happiness  was  not  as  un- 
clouded as  that  of  his  wife.  A  great  un- 
pleasantness became  ever  more  significant 
to  him,  the  quite  universal  coldness  of  his 
artistic  relations. 

It  would  be  wrong  to  believe  that  Na- 
talie, with  systematic  jealousy,  had  wished 
to  estrange  him  from  the  world  of  artists. 
On  the  contrary,  she  had  complied  with  his 
wish  to  make  her  acquainted  with  his  col- 
leagues and  their  families,  had  herself  asked 
it  of  him,  flatteringly. 

The  world  of  artists  interested  her. 
There,  everything  was  more  animated,  more 
meaning,  than  the  eternal  sameness  of  good 
society  which  she  knew  by  heart,  quite  by 
heart,  she  assured  him  tenderly.  She  made 
it  her  ambition  to  win  his  acquaintances 
for  hers.  But  strangely  enough,  in  spite  of 
all  her  seductive  loveliness,  she  succeeded 
only  very  incompletely. 


Asbe'in.  127 

She  had  already  known  the  tlite  among 
the  artists.  There  is  nothing  further  to  be 
said  of  her  relations  with  these  favpred  of 
the  gods,  exceptional  existences,  than  that 
she  always  felt  honored  by  intercourse  with 
them,  and  pleased,  and  that,  when  with 
them  she  ever  vexed  herself  over  the  worn- 
out  old  commonplace,  that  one  should  avoid 
the  acquaintance  of  famous  men  in  order  to 
prevent  disappointment — a  commonplace 
which  was  probably  invented  for  the  con- 
solation of  those  who,  in  advance,  are  ex- 
cluded from  intercourse  with  celebrities. 
That  Natalie  always  succeeded  in  winning 
the  sympathies  of  these  exceptional  natures 
stands  for  itself. 

But  when  it  was  a  question  of  that  great 
crowd  of  artists,  of  the  mixture  of  sickly 
vanity,  embarrassed  affairs,  depressing  re- 
lations, etc.,  then  it  was  hard  to  build  up  a 
friendship  between  Lensky's  wife  and  his 
old  colleagues. 

Envy  of  Lensky,  envy  which  had  refer- 
ence largely  to  his  artistic  results,  and  in  a 


128  Asbe'in, 

less  degree  to  his  marriage  and  social  posi- 
tion, peeped  out  everywhere  from  these 
people,  and  had  its  own  results  in  soon 
completely  embittering  the  not  very  pleas- 
ant relations  between  them  and  Natalie. 

In  a  truly  friendly,  touchingly  friendly 
manner,  they  only  met  her  in  quite  mod- 
estly circumstanced  families  —  families  of 
a  few  true  artists  who  yet  could  accomplish 
nothing  with  their  work  but  to  honestly 
and  poorly  provide  for  their  seven  or  eight 
children.  Families  of  simple  people,  who 
had  formerly  been  good  to  Lensky  in  the 
difficult  beginning  of  his  career,  and  to 
whom  he  always  showed  the  most  faithful 
adherence,  the  most  prodigal  generosity. 
She  also  felt  happy  among  these  plain 
people. 

What  wonder  that  these  people  would 
all  have  gone  through  fire  for  him  !  They 
would  also  have  all  given  of  their  best  for 
Natalie,  whom  without  envy  they  wor- 
shipped with  enthusiasm  as  a  queen.  They 
rejoiced  that  Lensky,  their  pride,  their 


Asbetn.  129 

idol,  possessed  such  a  beautiful  and  distin- 
guished wife — in  their  £yes  the  daughter  of 
the  emperor  would  not  have  been  too  good 
for  him. 

Natalie  thanked  them  for  their  great  at- 
tachment, as  well  as  she  could  ;  she  reck- 
oned it  a  special  favor  to  receive  these  mod- 
est people  in  her  home,  to  invite  them  with 
their  wives  and  children,  to  entertain  them 
with  distinction,  to  stuff  all  the  children's 
pockets  full  of  bonbons,  and  give  them 
little  parting  presents. 

But  intercourse  with  these  poor  devils 
was  in  reality  only  a  sentimental  game, 
even  as  intercourse  with  the  artistic  tlite 
was  nothing  but  an  ideal  recreation.  Nei- 
ther the  one  nor  the  other  sufficed  to 
firmly  knit  the  band  between  Lensky's 
wife  and  his  former  world,  or  to  keep  up 
his  popularity  in  that  world. 

Of  all  the  opposition  and  difficulty  which 
would  arise  therefrom  for  Lensky's  future 
and  especially  for  his  yet  to  be  won  future 


1 30  Asbem. 

as  composer,  Natalie  still  suspected  noth- 
ing. For  her,  the  whole  heaven  was  still 
blue. 

Then  the  first  deep  shadow  fell  on  her 
happiness.  Lensky,  to  whom  every  long 
separation  from  her  was  unbearable,  when 
he  undertook  a  long  tour  through  central 
Europe,  in  spite  of  her  express  request, 
could  not  resolve  to  leave  her  behind  with 
the  children,  in  St.  Petersburg.  The  little 
children  were  left  under  the  care  of  their 
grandmother. 

For  the  first  time",  Natalie  was  no  amus- 
ing, but  a  dull  and  nervous,  travelling  com- 
panion. An  unbearable  anxiety  followed 
her  like  a  foreboding.  All  his  attempts  to 
console  her  were  in  vain. 

In  Dusseldorf,  she  received,  by  tele- 
graph, the  news  that  little  Mascha  was  ill 
with  diphtheria.  When  she  arrived  in 
Petersburg,  half  dead  from  anxiety  and 
breathless  haste,  the  child  lay  in  her  coffin. 

He  was  almost  as  desperate  as  she.  He 
overwhelmed  himself  with  self-reproaches ; 


Asbem.  131 

— who  knows,  if  they  had  watched  the 
child  better,  if  they  had  thought  of  this  or 
that  in  caring  for  it.  ...  What  torment, 
to  be  obliged  to  say  that  to  one's  self !  A 
reproach  never  passed  her  lips,  she  even 
concealed  her  tears  lest  they  should  sadden 
him.  But  from  that  unhappiness  on,  some- 
thing in  her  formerly  so  elastic  nature,  so 
capable  of  resistance,  was  broken  forever. 
The  first  jubilant  time  of  their  marriage 
was  at  an  end. 

Together  with  the  evermore  unpleasant 
friction  with  his  colleagues,  and  the  great 
pain  for  his  lost  child,  still  another  worry 
announced  itself  to  Lensky — something 
gnawing,  and  incessantly  tormenting :  a 
daily  increasing  money  embarrassment. 
Natalie  decidedly  spent  too  much,  but  quite 
naively,  with  the  firm  conviction  that  she 
could  not  exist  more  economically  ;  where- 
fore it  was  doubly  hard  for  him  to  be 
finally  obliged  to  tell  her  that  he  could 
not  raise  the  money  to  continue  the  house- 


132  Asbe'in. 

hold  on  the  footing  to  which  she  had  been 
accustomed. 

It  was  quite  touching  to  see  how  fright- 
ened she  was  when  he  made  her  the  first 
communication  in  reference  to  it — fright- 
ened, not  at  the  prospect  of  having  to  save, 
but  only  at  the  thoughtlessness  by  which 
she  had  burdened  Lensky  with  cares.  She 
immediately  showed  herself  ready  for  the 
most  exaggerated  reforms.  But  to  live 
with  his  wife  like  a  proletary,  in  St.  Pe- 
tersburg, among  her  brilliant  relations  and 
friends,  he  could  not  bring  himself  to  do. 

In  the  autumn  of  the  same  year,  he 

moved  with  his  family  to ,  a  large 

German  capital,  where  he  had  accepted  the 
direction  of  a  significant  musical  under- 
taking. 

But  here  the  conflict  between  his  artistic 
and  family  life  which  had  arisen  through 
his  alliance  with  Natalie,  came  to  light 
with  more  detestable  clearness. 

He  was  in  his  element,  as  an  artist  whose 
powers  have  found  a  wide,  noble  sway. 


Asbe'in.  133 

The  great  musical  undertaking,  at  whose 
head  they  had  placed  him,  flourished  won- 
derfully under  his  lead.  The  fiery  earnest- 
ness with  which  he  undertook  it  won  him 
all  musical  hearts.  Also  the  atmosphere  in 

was  sympathetic  to  him  for  other 

reasons.  He  had  a  crowd  of  old  connec- 
tions there,  acquaintances  of  his  first  virtu- 
oso period,  people  who  surrounded  him, 
distinguished  him,  with  whom  he  could 
speak  of  his  art — which  always  remained 
sacred  and  earnest  to  him,  and  never,  for 
him,  deteriorated  to  a  more  or  less  noble 
means  of  earning  his  living,  or  to  a  social 
pedestal — in  quite  a  different  manner  than 
with  the  elegant  dilettantis  who  had  grad- 
ually crowded  out  every  other  society 
from  his  house  in  St.  Petersburg.  They 
gave  one  artistic  festival  after  the  other 
in  his  honor,  and  all  this  entertained 
him. 

His  wife  appeared  with  him  a  couple  of 
times  on  such  occasions,  then  she  excused 
herself — she  had  no  pleasure  in  them.  She 


134  Asbe'in. 

felt  isolated,  an  insurmountable  home-sick- 
ness tormented  her. 

Without  confessing  it,  for  the  first  time 
since  her  marriage  the  position  which  she 
occupied  with  Lensky  angered  her. 

In  St.  Petersburg  she  had  always  remained 
with  him  the  Princess  Assanow,  he  had  as- 
cended to  her  world  ;  here  she  must  sud- 
denly satisfy  herself  with  his  world.  She 
was  too  vexed,  too  angrily  excited  to  seek 
in  this  world  all  the  true  interest,  earnest- 
ness, and  nobility  that  were  to  be  found 
therein. 

She  had  intimate  intercourse  only  with 
an  old  friend  of  her  youth,  a  certain  Count- 
ess Stolnitzky,  who  went  out  but  little 
and  consequently  had  time  enough  for 
Natalie. 

Lensky  begged  Natalie  to  open  her  draw- 
ing-room one  or  two  evenings  a  week,  that 
is  to  say  to  his  friends.  Natalie's  drawing- 
ing-room  became  a  meeting-place  for  all 
kinds  of  artistic  leaders,  among  which  the 
dramatic  element  formed  the  principal  con- 


Asbe'in.  135 

tingent,  and  this  chiefly  because  Lensky 
wished  to  have  an  opera  performed. 

For  him,  intercourse  with  dramatic  artists 
had  no  unpleasantness  ;  he  had  been  accus- 
tomed to  it  from  youth.  But  it  became  un- 
pleasant to  Natalie  after  she  had  satisfied 
that  superficial  curiosity  which  every  woman 
living  in  severely  exclusive  circles  feels  con- 
cerning these  theatrical  people. 

The  only  people  that  were  still  more  un- 
pleasant to  Natalie,  in  her  drawing-room, 
than  this  crowd  of  people  still  smelling  of 
freshly  washed-off  paint,  were  the  aristo- 
crats who  came  there  to  meet  the  artists. 
And  many  of  these  came — very  many,  all 
who  coquetted  with  a  little  bit  of  musical 
interest — yes,  and  many  others.  "  Very  in- 
teresting, these  soirees  at  Lensky's,"  they 
always  said,  when  these  were  spoken  of ; 
"very  interesting ;  they  always  have  very 
good  music  there,  and  then  one  meets  a 
crowd  of  amusing  people  whom  one  never 
sees  anywhere  else.  And  the  wife  is  really 
charming — quite  comme  il  faut." 


136  Asbein. 

"  She  is  a  Russian  princess,"  a  foreigner 
interrupted,  who  belonged  to  the  diplomatic 
corps. 

The  native  women  turned  up  their  noses 
repellently.  They  placed  no  great  confi- 
dence in  the  distinction  of  Russian  prin- 
cesses who  married  artists. 

Natalie  was  so  ignorant  of  their  rooted 
prejudices  that  she  greeted  the  ladies  who 
came  to  her  house  with  the  greatest  frank- 
ness as  her  equals.  She  caused  offence  by 
her  naivet^,  and  noticed  it.  People  came  to 
Lensky,  not  to  her — if  she  would  only  un- 
derstand that  they  wished  to  be  as  polite 
as  possible  to  her,  in  the  somewhat  narrow 
limits  of  well-bred  society — but  she  must 
understand  it. 

She  did  understand.  When  she  ob- 
served that  most  of  the  ladies  accepted  her 
invitations  without  returning  them,  yes, 
when  it  happened  that  the  art-loving  Prin- 
cess C.  sent  Lensky  an  invitation  to  a  soiree, 
and  overlooked  his  wife,  then  she  under- 
stood. It  began  to  tell  upon  her,  to  aggra- 
vate her. 


Asbe'in.  137 

She  fulfilled  her  duties  as  hostess  with 
displeasure,  did  the  honors  negligently,  and 
did  nothing  to  animate  her  receptions. 
My  God !  people  came  there  to  hear  music 
and  to  rave  over  her  husband, — she  was  no 
longer  necessary.  She  became  quite  foolish 
and  childish. 

She  was  used  to  the  homage  that  was 
paid  her  husband,  she  would  have  been 
fearfully  angry  if  they  had  not  paid  him 
enough  ;  but  in  Russia,  this  homage  was 
shown  in  quite  a  different,  much  nobler, 
intenser  form  ;  in  Russia  he  was  a  great 
man,  before  whom  every  one  removed  his 
hat,  a  sacred  being  of  whom  the  nation  was 
proud  ;  men  and  women  of  the  highest  rank 
showed  him  the  same  respect. 

But  in  -  — ,  except  one  or  two  partic- 
ularly enthusiastic  lovers  of  music,  none  of 
the  nobility  appeared  in  his  house,  with  the 
exception  of  the  ladies.  Why  did  he  ask 
them?  He  ridiculed  them — but  yet  their 
flattery  pleased  him.  He  had  dedicated  a 
composition  to  more  than  one  of  them. 


1 38  As&em. 

Natalie  was  almost  beside  herself  with 
rage.  For  the  first  time  she  felt  a  certain 
jealousy.  Among  others,  there  was  a  little 
dark  Polish  woman,  married  to  a  Swedish 
diplomat,  and  separated  from  him,  a  Count- 
ess Lowenskiold.  She  purred  around  him 
like  a  kitten. 

Formerly  he  would  have  noticed  the 
change  in  Natalie  immediately,  but  for  the 
first  time  since  their  marriage  he  forgot,  not 
only  in  his  study  but  elsewhere,  his  wife  for 
his  art.  He  was  so  happy  in  his  art,  so 
completely  occupied  with  it,  that  he  scarce- 
ly noticed  the  pitiful  social  pin-pricks  which 
formerly  would  have  caused  him  vexation 
enough,  and  consequently  did  not  con- 
sider the  importance  they  had  for  Nata- 
lie. 

The  study  of  his  opera,  for  which  they 
had  placed  at  his  disposal  the  best  facilities 
at  the  command  of  the  —  •  Theatre, 
went  steadily  forward.  The  artists  liked  to 
work  under  his  direction,  and  with  enthusi- 
asm did  their  utmost  to  do  justice  to  his 


Asbe'in.  139 

work.     Joy  fevered  in  every  vein  when  he 
came  home  from  the  rehearsals. 

It  was  toward  the  end  of  the  carnival. 
One  of  Lensky's  musical  soirees  had  been 
visited  by  quite  an  unusual  number  of  bril- 
liant visitors.  A  very  large  number  of 
ladies  of  the  best  society  had  been  there. 

They  had  all  appeared  in  brilliant  toilets, 
with  bare  shoulders,  and  diamonds  and 
feathers  in  their  hair.  Natalie  was  also  in 
evening  dress,  while  the  wives  of  Lensky's 
colleagues  and  all  the  ladies  present  not 
belonging  to  the  court  circle  had  come  in 
high-necked  dresses. 

When  the  aristocratic  ladies,  with  pro- 
fuse thanks  for  the  musical  treat  offered 
them,  had  withdrawn  before  eleven  o'clock, 
because  they  must,  "  alas !  "  still  go  "  into 
society,"  into  Natalie's  social  world,  but 
which  was  closed  to  her  in  —  — ,  Natalie 
remained  the  only  woman  in  her  drawing- 
room  with  bare  shoulders. 

Lensky,  who  had  just  accompanied  some 


140  Asbezn. 

tedious  Highness  politely  out  of  the  room, 
now  returned  to  the  music-room,  closed  the 
door,  behind  which  the  noble  patroness  had 
disappeared,  and  cried  gayly :  "  So,  chil- 
dren, now  we  can  be  among  ourselves,  and 
enjoy  a  comfortable  evening." 

"  Among  ourselves ! "  These  words 
pierced  Natalie  like  a  poisoned  stiletto. 
"Among  ourselves!"  She  bit  her  lower 
lip,  angrily. 

Meanwhile,  pushing  back  the  hair  from 
his  temples  with  both  hands,  Lensky  asked  : 
"  Would  the  gentlemen  like  to  play  the 
Schumann  E-flat  major  quartette  with  me 
before  we  sit  down  to  supper?"  Then  he 
looked  over  at  Natalie  and  smiled.  She 
knew  that  he  proposed  this  wonderful  quar- 
tette for  her  sake,  because  it  was  her  favor- 
ite, but  she  was  already  so  over-excited 
that  the  touching  little  attention  made  no 
impression  on  her.  She  remained  as  de- 
fiant and  bad-tempered  as  before. 

While  they  played  she  let  her  eyes  wan- 
der gloomily  over  the  already  empty  hired 


Asbe'in.  141 

cane-bottomed  chairs,  which  stood  around 
in  regular  rows.  She  asked  herself  bitterly, 
what  really  was  the  difference  between  her 
"  reception  evenings "  and  any  other  con- 
cert?— that  the  people  paid  their  admission 
with  compliments  instead  of  money!  And 
while  she  made  these  useless  and  vexing 
observations,  the  most  noble  music  that 
was  ever  written  vibrated  around  her  heart, 
like  an  admonition  of  how  small  all  these 
worldly,  outward  vanities  were  in  compari- 
son with  the  lofty,  god-like  being  of  true 
art !  And  her  obstinate  heart  had  already 
begun  to  understand  the  sermon  and  to  be 
ashamed,  when  she  observed  two  bold  eyes 
of  a  man  staring  from  across  the  room  at 
her  bare  shoulders.  The  eyes  belonged  to 
a  certain  Mr.  Arnold  Spatzig,  the  most  in- 
fluential musical  critic  and  journalist  in 

.     Scarcely  had  he  noticed  that  her 

look  met  his  when  he  left  his  chair,  in 
order,  crossing  the  room,  to  take  his  place 
near  Natalie,  and  continue  his  insolent  scru- 
tiny from  near  by.  He  was  a  disagreeable 


142  Asbe'in. 

man,  with  thick  lips,  spectacles,  and  boldly 
displayed  cynicism.  Natalie,  who  could 
not  endure  him,  had  formerly  tolerated  him 
on  Lensky's  account.  Now  she  felt  so  in- 
sulted by  his  manner,  that,  with  the  ve- 
hement impoliteness  of  a  spoiled  woman 
whose  pride  is  wounded  and  who  is  ex- 
cluded from  her  natural  sphere,  she  sprang 
up,  and  turning  her  back  directly  to  Mr. 
Arnold  Spatzig,  hastened  away  from  him. 

And  now  the  quartette  was  over,  and  also 
the  supper  which  followed,  exquisite  and 
over-abundant  as  ever,  at  which  Lensky  did 
the  honors  with  that  heartiness,  not  over- 
looking the  least  of  his  guests,  which  was 
peculiar  to  him. 

It  was  two  o'clock,  and  the  house  was 
empty;  the  lights  still  burned.  Lensky 
was  busy  arranging  the  music  on  the  piano, 
Natalie  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  room, 
drawn  up  to  her  full  height,  evidently  try- 
ing to  suppress  a  nervous  attack.  She  held 
her  handkerchief  to  her  lips — it  was  no  use. 
Suddenly  she  cried  out :  "  Must  I  receive 


Asbein.  143 

these  people?  I  would  rather  scrub  the 
floor  !  "  And  with  that  she  made  a  gesture 
as  if  she  would  tear  something  apart. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  he  asked  slowly. 
He  had  become  deadly  pale,  and  his  voice 
trembled. 

She  only  drew  her  brows  gloomily  to- 
gether and  continued  to  gnaw  at  her  hand- 
kerchief. 

Then  he  lost  patience.  He  seized  a  large 
Japanese  vase,  and  threw  it  with  such  force 
on  the  floor  that  it  broke  in  pieces ;  then  he 
left  the  room,  slamming  the  door  behind 
him. 

But  Natalie  looked  after  him,  offended, 
and  broke  out  in  fierce,  whimpering  sobs. 

A  few  minutes  later  when  she,  still  weep- 
ing and  trembling  in  every  limb,  leaned 
against  a  sofa,  m  whose  cushions  she  had 
buried  her  face,  she  felt  a  warm  hand  on 
her  shoulder.  She  looked  up,  Lensky  had 
come  up  to  her.  The  traces  of  his  diffi- 
cultly mastered  irritation  were  still  on  his 
deathly  pale  face,  but  he  bent  down  anx- 


144  Asbe'in. 

iously  to  her  and  said  gently  :  "  Calm  your- 
self, please,  Natatie ;  it  is  no  matter.  Poor 
Natalie !  I  should  have  thought  of  it 
sooner.  You  shall  never  again  receive  any 
one — not  a  person — who  does  not  please 
you,  only  stop  crying ;  that  I  cannot 
bear." 

At  the  first  friendly  word  that  he  said  to 
her,  her  whole  ill  humor  changed  to  tor- 
menting remorse  and  shame.  "  You  will 
not  take  what  I  said  to  you  in  earnest," 
said  she.  "  It  is  not  possible  that  you 
should  take  this  madness  in  earnest.  I  am 
so  ashamed — ah,  I  cannot  tell  you  how 
ashamed  I  am  !  I  acted  unjustifiably,  but 
I  was  so  tired,  so  nervous — scold  me,  be 
angry  with  me,  and  only  then  forgive  me, 
or  else  your  indulgence  will  oppress  me  too 
heavily,"  and  with  that  she.  kissed  his  hands 
and  sobbed — sobbed  incessantly. 

He  caressed  her  like  a  little  child  whom 
one  wishes  to  soothe,  and  she  continued  : 
"  I  will  suit  myself  better  to  my  position,  I 
will  be  friendly  to  every  one — as  if  I  could 


Asbe'in.  145 

not  make  that  little  sacrifice  to  your  artis- 
tic position  !  " 

Then  he  interrupted  her  :  "  I  will  accept 
no  sacrifice  from  you,  not  the  slightest, 
that  I  cannot  do,"  said  he.  "  What  have 
you  to  trouble  yourself  about  my  artistic 
position  ?  You  have  nothing  at  all  to  do 
but  to  love  me  and  be  happy — if  you  still 
can,"  he  added  softly,  with  a  tenderness 
that  for  the  first  time  since  his  marriage 
had  a  bitter  savor. 

But  she  looked  up  at  him  in  the  midst  of 
her  tears,  with  glorified  happiness.  "  If  I 
still  can  ? "  she  whispered,  drawing  his 
head  down  to  her — he  now  sat  on  the  sofa 
beside  her,  with  his  arm  around  her  waist — 
"  if  I  still  can  !  "  His  lips  met  hers,  her 
head  sank  on  his  shoulder. 

The  candles  in  the  chandeliers  had 
burned  low  down,  one  of  them  went  out, 
and  in  going  out  threw  a  couple  of  sparks 
down  on  the  pieces  of  the  Japanese  vase 
which  Lensky  had  broken  in  his  anger. 
He  had  sent  it  to  Natalie  filled  with  roses, 


146  Asbe'tn. 

in  Rome,  while  they  were  betrothed,  there- 
fore she  loved  it  and  had  brought  it  with 
them  to . 

His  eyes  rested  on  the  pieces  with  a 
peculiar  sad  look.  "  And  now  lie  down 
and  see  that  you  sleep  after  your  ex- 
citement," said  he  to  the  young  wife.  She 
followed  him  like  a  little  child.  He  mixed 
her  the  sleeping  potion  of  orange  essence, 
to  which  she  was  accustomed,  and  calmed 
her  with  pleasant  patient  words.  A  happy 
smile  lay  on  her  lips  when  she  at  length 
fell  asleep. 

But  he  did  not  close  his  eyes  during  the 
whole  night,  he  did  not  even  lie  down ;  but 
sat  in  his  room  at  the  writing-table.  He 
wished  to  work  on  something,  but  the 
music-paper  remained  untouched  beneath 
his  pen. 

How  could  she  so  give  way,  at  the  first 
little  trial  which  she  had  ever  had  ?  Why 
had  she  spoken  of  a  sacrifice  ? — sacrifice  ! — 
he  would  take  no  sacrifice  from  her. 


Asbe'in.  147 

Natalie's  reception  days  were  given  up 
under  pretext  of  the  illness  of  his  young 
wife.  From  that  time,  Lensky  saw  most 
of  his  friends  only  outside  of  his  house — 
his  "  patronesses  "  he  saw  no  more. 

Natalie  was  ashamed  of  her  small,  pitiful 
discontent,  was  ashamed  of  the  scene  she 
had  made  her  husband,  and  still  was  foolish 
enough  to  rejoice  over  her  victory,  and  to 
fully  profit  by  it. 

She  offered  all  her  intellectual,  flattering, 
charming  lovableness  to  recompense  for 
the  loss  she  had  caused  him,  and  to  quite 
win  him  again  for  herself.  She  thought  of 
all  his  preferences  in  her  housekeeping, 
which,  in  the  beginning,  she  had  somewhat 
neglected  in  -  —  ;  with  half  unconscious 
slyness,  she  knew  how  to  profit  by  his  small 
as  well  as  his  great  qualities  ;  to  attain  her 
aim,  knew  how  to  touch  his  heart  as  well 
as  to  flatter  his  vanity.  In  full  measure 
she  attained  what  she  strove  for.  Forget- 
ting all  the  prudence  which  his  position  de- 
manded, he  laid  just  as  enthusiastic  homage 


148  Asbein. 

at  her  feet  as  in  the  very  first  time  of  his 
marriage.  But  she  was  so  charming  !  And 
how  well  her  defiant  arrogance  became  her! 
that  arrogance  which  would  bend  to  no  one 
and  only  with  her  loved  one  melted  into 
passionate  submission. 

What  did  the  great  artist  coterie  which 
his  wife  had  repulsed  say  to  all  this  ?  Oh, 
who  could  trouble  one's  self  about  all  these 
people? 

Meanwhile,  during  this  happy  intoxicated 
period  he  had  met  with  one  vexation  that 
concerned  him  very  nearly.  Three  weeks 
before  the  appointed  date  for  the  produc- 
tion of  his  "  Corsair,"  the  prima  donna  of 

the opera,  Madame  D.,  an  artist  of  the 

first  rank,  for  whom  he  had  quite  specially 
written  the  principal  feminine  r6le,  declared 
that  she  would  not  sing  it  under  any  con- 
sideration. Lensky  knew  very  well  that  he 
had  to  thank  the  senseless  arrogance  of  his 
wife  for  the  sudden  opposition  of  this  irri- 
table leader  ;  it  was  bitter  to  him  ;  but  with- 
out telling  Natalie  a  word  of  it,  he  choked 


Asbein.  149 

down  this  unpleasant  affair,  and  submitted 
to  seeing  the  part  which  the  artiste  had 
thoroughly  learned  and  brought  to  such 
splendid  perfection  intrusted  now  to  the 
weak  powers  of  a  talented  but  awkward 
beginner. 

The  evening  of  the  representation  came. 
They  were  both  feverish,  he  and  she ;  but 
she  fevered  in  expectation  of  a  great  tri- 
umph, he  trembled  before  a  defeat. 

He  knew  that  his  work  had  three  things 
against  it  :  a  libretto  that,  for  an  opera,  was 
over-finely  poetic,  and  poor  in  dramatic 
effect,  the  weak  representation  of  the  prin- 
cipal rdle,  and  the  whole  coterie  of  artists 
and  bohemians  in  the  audience  excited 
against  him  by  the  arrogance  of  his  wife. 
Perhaps  his  music  would  save  the  situation. 
The  music  was  beautiful,  that  he  knew  ;  he 
must  build  on  that. 

Natalie  made  the  sign  of  the  cross  on  his 
forehead  and  hung  a  consecrated  Byzantine 
saint's  picture,  in  a  strange  gold  and  black 


1 50  Asbein. 

enamel  frame,  around  his  neck  before  he 
went  into  the  fire,  that  is  to  say,  before  he 
drove  to  the  opera-house  to  take  the  baton 
in  his  hand.  He  smiled  at  this  supersti- 
tious action  and  let  it  happen. 

The  greatest  heroes  like  to  avail  them- 
selves of  a  little  celestial  protection  before 
a  battle. 

In  the  opera-house  he  found  everything 
in  the  best  condition,  courageous,  ready  for 
battle.  An  hour  later  he  mounted  the  di- 
rector's rostrum. 

Once  he  turned  his  head  to  the  audience, 
and  his  eyes  sought  Natalie.  There  she 
sat  near  the  stage  in  a  box  in  the  first  row, 
which  she  shared  with  the  Countess  Stol- 
nitzky.  She  wore  a  black  velvet  dress,  in 
her  hair  sparkled  the  diamond  narcissi 
which  he  had  given  her  as  bridegroom ; 
around  her  neck  was  wound  a  thick  string 
of  pearls  which  the  Empress  of  Russia  had 
sent  him  for  her  once  when  he  played  at 
court.  In  the  whole  theatre  there  was  no 
woman  who  could  compare  with  her  in 


Asbein.  151 

proud,  beaming,  and  yet  indescribably 
lovely  beauty.  She  smiled  at  him  con- 
strainedly. What  was  not  hidden  in  that 
scarcely  perceptible  smile !  For  the  last 
time  a  kind  of  happy,  proud  delirium  of 
love  lay  hold  upon  him.  He  knocked  on 
the  desk,  raised  his  arm,  and  the  violins 
began.  x 

With  a  kind  of  magnificent,  fiery  earnest- 
ness, and  with  that,  quite  classically  severe 
in  the  musical  roundness  and  connection  of 
the  motives,  the  overture  sounded  through 
the  crowded  hall.  It  was  rather  too 
long,  and  as  the  learned  ones  among  the 
audience  remarked,  was  better  suited  for 
the  first  movement  of  a  symphony  than  the 
introduction  of  an  opera.  But  what  of  that ! 
the  music  was  beautiful,  wonderfully  beau- 
tiful, full  of  sad  sweetness  and  quite  demon- 
like,  ravishing  power.  Here,  also,  sounded 
the  strange  Arabian  succession  of  tones 
again,  which  was  the  characteristic  of  all  his 
compositions,  the  devil's  tones  :  Asbein. 

Natalie  did  not  hear  a  sound,  the  buzzing 


152  As  be  in. 

in  her  ears,  the  beating  of  her  heart  was 
too  loud. 

The  last  piercing  chord  resounded  through 
the  hall.  What  was  that?  An  immense 
burst  of  applause,  unending  bravos ;  the 
overture  had  to  be  repeated. 

It  was  with  difficulty  that  Natalie  could 
keep  from  sobbing  aloud.  Again  her  smile 
sought  his.  A  beautiful  expression  of 
noble,  earnest  peace  was  on  his  features, 
but  his  glance  did  not  answer  hers,  he  had 
forgotten  her  for  his  work. 

The  curtain  rose.  Natalie  scarcely 
breathed,  her  hot  blood  crept  slowly  through 
her  veins  like  chilling  metal,  her  ears  no 
longer  buzzed,  on  the  contrary  her  hearing 
was  uncommonly  sharp  ;  only  she  could  not 
take  in  the  music1,  but  listened  to  all  kinds 
of  other  things.  The  rustling  of  a  dress, 
the  rattling  of  a  fan,  the  whispering  of  a 
voice  caused  her  such  excitement  that  it 
seemed  to  her,  each  time,  as  if  she  had 
been  shot  through  the  heart  by  a  pistol. 
The  unexpected  result  of  the  overture 


Asbein.  153 

had  increased  her  nervous  tension  still 
further. 

During  the  first  two  acts  the  opinion  re- 
mained favorable.  After  the  second  act, 
the  Russian  ambassador  presented  himself 
to  Natalie  to  congratulate  her. 

While  she  received  his  congratulations, 
still  trembling  with  excitement,  she  sud- 
denly heard  quite  loud  talking,  in  a  box  not 
far  from  her. 

It  was  the  box  of  that  same  Princess  C., 
who  was  mentioned  as  particularly  musical, 
and  who  had  invited  Lensky  to  a  soirte  and 
passed  over  Natalie.  Between  her  and 
another  art-loving  woman  sat  Mr.  Arnold 
Spatzig.  Up  to  a  certain  point,  he  had  ac- 
cess to  the  highest  circles  of  society,  that  is 
to  say,  he  was  patronized  by  a  couple  of 
ladies  who  were  bored  in  their  "  world," 
and  who  consequently  liked  to  attract  men 
from  some  "  other  world "  to  them  for  a 
short  entertainment,  not  a  long  engagement, 
to  be  amused  by  them. 

"  These  plebeian  men  at  least  take  pains 


1 54  Asbe'in. 

to  amuse,"  the  ladies  were  accustomed  to 
remark,  and  Arnold  Spatzig  decidedly  took 
pains  to  amuse. 

Once  he  raised  his  opera-glass  to  his  eyes, 
and  stared  long  and  boldly  in  Natalie's 
face. 

The  third  act  began  with  an  aria  by  Gual- 
nare,  that  is  to  say,  with  a  kind  of  duet 
between  her  and  the  ocean,  which  was  rep- 
resented by  the  orchestra.  For  a  concert 
piece  the  number  was  interesting  and  origi- 
nal, but  peculiarly  unsuited  to  the  begin- 
ning of  the  third  act  of  an  opera.  Only  the 
splendid  vocal  powers  and  the  poetic  com- 
prehension of  Madame  D.,  for  whom  the 
aria  was  written,  could  have  saved  it ;  the 
powers  of  the  beginner  who  sang  the  part 
of  Gualnare  that  evening  were  not  at  all 
equal  to  her  task,  her  voice,  wearied  by  the 
exertions  of  the  two  preceding  acts,  sound- 
ed almost  extinct,  her  acting  was  awkward. 

Natalie  observed  the  bad  impression 
which  this  number  made  on  the  audience. 
Anxiously  she  looked  around  the  theatre: 


Asbe'in.  155 

the  people  were  patient,  had  too  much 
sympathy  for  the  virtuoso  Lensky  to  in- 
considerately insult  the  composer. 

On  the  stage,  still  continued  the  endless 
ocean  duet.  Still,  in  the  same  monotonous 
time,  Gualnare  advanced  to  the  waves  and 
retreated  from  them,  quite  as  if  she  were 
dancing  a  pas  de  deux  with  the  sea.  Then 
Natalie  heard  laughing ;  the  laughing 
sounded  from  the  box  of  Princess  C. 

Dr.  Spatzig  bent  over  to  her,  smiling, 
whispered  something  to  her.  She  laughed 
— how  heartily  she  laughed !  The  opera- 
glasses  of  many  ladies  in  the  boxes  sought 
the  Doctor's  critical  glance;  Spatzig  laughed, 
the  Princess  laughed,  the  whole  theatre 
laughed. 

The  aria  was  at  an  end,  the  gallery  ap- 
plauded. "  Ss — ss — ss."  What  was  that 
cutting,  piercing  sound  which  killed  the  ap- 
plause? 

Natalie  became  white  as  chalk ;  her  friend 
sought  her  hand  ;  Natalie  drew  it  away  ;  no 
human  sympathy  could  be  of  use  to  her. 


156  Asbein. 

From  that  moment  the  enthusiasm  of  the 
audience  rapidly  declined.  The  lack  of  dra- 
matic action  in  the  libretto  became  more 
and  more  significant.  More  and  more  dif- 
ficultly the  poor  music  dragged  along  amidst 
a  succession  of  glaring  spectacular  effects, 
which  monotonously  made  place  for  each 
other  without  ever  forming  an  interesting 
contrast.  And  the  music  was  so  beautiful. 
There  was  something  so  heavily  majestic  in 
the  rhythm,  here  and  there  at  once  a  trifle 
monotonous  and  over-laden,  but  in  the  ac- 
companiment so  wonderfully  beautiful  in 
spite  of  all,  and  furnished  with  a  richness  of 
melody  unattainable  by  any  of  the  other 
composers  of  the  time,  never  approaching 
the  trivial,  but  always  remaining  noble. 

The  audience  was  weary,  and  like  every 
wearied  audience,  mocking;  its  musical  com- 
prehension was  worn  out.  From  the  mid- 
dle of  the  fourth  act  people  began  to  leave 
the  theatre,  and  when  the  curtain  fell  at  the 
close,  not  a  hand  moved. 

Countess  Stolnitzky  accompanied  Natalie 


Asbe'in.  157 

silently  down  the  steps.  Natalie  got  into 
her  carriage  and  directed  it  to  the  stage  en- 
trance. She  had  promised  to  call  for  Len- 
sky  after  the  opera.  More  dead  than  alive 
she  sat  in  the  pretty  coupe1  and  waited. 
The  air  was  sharp,  it  was  a  frosty  March 
night,  the  stars  sparkled  as  if  in  cold  mock- 
ery from  the  unreachable  heavens,  quite  as 
if  they  were  laughing  to  think  that  once 
more  a  child  of  man  had  tried  to  storm  this 
heaven  and  had  so  pitiably  failed. 

A  half-hour  had  passed  ;  at  last  Natalie 
sprang  from  the  carriage  and  hastened  up 
the  narrow  stairs.  There  she  met  Lensky. 
He  was  deathly  pale,  his  hat  was  put  on  his 
head  differently  from  usual,  in  a  kind  of 
enterprising  and  challenging  manner ;  his 
walk  had  something  negligent,  swinging; 
there  was  a  vagabond  trace  in  his  carriage 
that  Natalie  had  never  before  perceived  in 
him.  He  held  his  cigarette  between  his 
teeth  and  had  the  little  singer  on  his  arm 
who  had  to-day  impersonated  Gualnare  in 
his  opera.  Many  of  the  singers,  as  well  as 


158  Asbe'in. 

the  members  of  the  orchestra,  came  down 
the  steps  behind  him,  a  gaudy,  witty,  whis- 
pering throng.  For  the  first  time,  Natalie 
remarked  a  certain  similarity,  one  might 
almost  say  a  common  family  resemblance, 
between  her  hero  and  these  other  "  artists." 
The  men  all  had  the  same  manner  of  wear- 
ing their  hats  and  swaggering  in  their  walk 
as  he  had  to-day. 

Although  these  men  were  more  than  ever 
repulsive  to  her,  she  greeted  them  with  anx- 
ious politeness.  "  I  was  afraid  you  were 
ill,"  she  said,  while  she  glanced  sadly  and 
anxiously  at  Boris.  "  I  have  already  waited 
half  an  hour  for  you." 

"  So  !  I  am  very  sorry,"  replied  he,  and 
his  voice  sounded  rougher  than  formerly. 
"  I  sent  a  messenger  to  you,  he  must  have 
missed  you.  I  cannot  go  home  with  you 
this  evening,  we " — he  looked  over  his 
shoulder  at  the  following  crowd — "  are 
going  to  have  supper  together.  After  a 
lost  battle  the  commander  must  care  for  the 
strengthening  of  his  troops."  He  laughed 


Asbe'tn.  1 59 

harshly  and  forcedly,  and  touched  the  hand 
of  the  singer  who  hung  on  his  arm. 

"  A  lost  battle  !  "  said  Natalie.  "  Lost — 
but  the  first  two  acts  were  a  great  success  !  " 

"  '  Don  Juan  '  did  not  succeed  at  the  first 
representation,"  remarked  some  one  behind 
Lensky.  He  turned  around  and  looked  at 
the  man  with  a  comical,  threatening  ges- 
ture ;  then  he  said,  with  the  expression  of  a 
man  with  a  bad  toothache,  who  yet  bursts 
out  with  a  witticism :  "  Who  laughs  last, 
laughs  best ! " 

Natalie  still  stood,  helpless  and  desperate, 
in  the  middle  of  the  narrow  stairs.  Her 
splendid  fur  cloak  had  half  slipped  down 
from  her  shoulders ;  her  simple,  distin- 
guished toilet  stood  out  in  strange  relief 
from  the  glaring,  tumbled,  inharmonious, 
motley  evening  adornments  of  the  singers. 

"  You  will  take  cold,  wrap  yourself  up 
better,"  said  Lensky,  while  he  came  up  to 
her  and  drew  the  fur  up  around  her  neck. 

"  Will  you  take  me  with  you  to  your  sup- 
per? I  would  come  with  the  greatest 


160  Asbe'tn. 

pleasure  ;  je  serai  gentille  avec  tout  le 
monde  !  "  she  whispered,  softly  and  suppli- 
catingly  to  him. 

"  What  an  idea !  "  said  he,  repellently. 
"  No,  to-night  I  sup  as  a  bachelor.  You  bar 
the  passage.  Drive  home  quite  calmly. 
Adieu  !  " 

He  pushed  her  into  the  carriage,  and 
went.  -She  put  her  head  out  of  the  window 
of  the  coupe  to  look  after  him.  She  saw 
how  he  got  into  a  fiacre  with  the  singer ; 
one  of  the  men  crawled  in  after  him  ;  then 
she  heard  some  one  laughing,  harshly, 
gipsy-like,  was  that  he  ?  Then  came  a  great 
rattling  of  windows,  and  creaking  and  roll- 
ing of  wheels.  Her  way  and  his  parted. 
Hurrying  by  a  row  of  ghostly  gas-lights, 
which  all  seemed  red  to  her,  she  rolled  away 
in  a  great,  cold,  black  darkness.  And  ten 
minutes  later,  weary  and  miserable,  she 
crept  up  the  steps  of  her  residence.  She 
knew  that  something  terrible  had  happened, 
something  that  not  only  embittered  her 
present,  but  would  darken  the  future,  that 


Asbein.  161 

for  her  much  more  had  gone  wrong  than 
the  result  of  an  opera. 

"  Who  knows,  perhaps  the  thing  will  pull 
through  ;  even  the  best  operas  have  some- 
times not  immediately  found  approval  with 
the  public,"  said  Lensky,  with  the  awkward, 
forced  smile  that  had  not  left  his  lips  since 
the  morning  after  his  fiasco.  The  challeng- 
ing, gipsy  humor  with  which,  in  the  begin- 
ning, he  had  sought  to  bluster  over  his  dis- 
appointment, had  not  lasted  long.  Quiet, 
weary,  and  depressed,  he  dragged  himself 
around  as  if  after  a  severe  illness.  Natalie 
did  what  she  could  to  be  agreeable  to  him  ; 
her  heart  bled  with  pity,  but  she  did  not 
venture  to  approach  him. 

He  avoided  her,  and  if  she  spoke  to  him 
his  answers  sounded  forced  or  vexed. 

To-day,  for  the  first  time  since  the  fatal 
evening,  he  turned  to  her  with  a  remark  in 
reference  to  his  work.  It  was  the  third 
day  after  the  first  production  of  the  opera, 
and  at  breakfast.  Natalie  had  just  read  to 


1 62  Asbein. 

him  many  criticisms  from  the  newspapers 
which  had  arrived.  In  many,  Lensky's 
magnificent  musical  gifts  were  praised. 

"  Perhaps  the  thing  will  pull  through," 
said  Lensky,  and  Natalie  replied  : 

"  Naturally,  the  opera  will  make  a  career 
for  itself.  You  must  yourself  have  for- 
gotten how  beautiful  your  music  is,  if  you 
can  doubt  that." 

"  Is  it  really  beautiful  ?  I  really  do  not 
know,"  murmured  he.  "  One  is  so  seldom 
able  to  believe  it  if  others  shrug  their 
shoulders.  To  improvise  variations  on  the 
old  theme  mon  Sonnet  est  charmant  is  a 
tasteless  occupation." 

There  was  a  ring  at  the  door-bell ;  he 
listened. 

"  Do  you  expect  anything?"  asked  Nata- 
lie, and  then  she  accidentally  looked  at  the 
clock.  It  was  already  very  late,  and  the 
hour  at  which  he  formerly  had  been  accus- 
tomed to  sit  down  to  work  was  long  past. 
She  saw  very  well  that  he  only  trifled  with 
time  like  a  man  who  is  too  tormented  by 


Asbe'in.  163 

inward  unrest  to  be  able  to  resolve  on  an 
earnest  occupation. 

"  Yes,"  he  replied.  "  I  do  not  under- 
stand why  the  Neue  Zeit  has  not  yet  ar- 
rived." 

Natalie  lowered  her  eyes.  The  Neue 
Zeit  was  the  journal  in  which  Dr.  Arnold 
Spatzig's  musical  criticism,  or  rather  his 
musical  feuilletons,  usually  appeared. 

"  That  " — Lensky  motioned  to  the  pile 
of  other  papers — "  is  all  very  pretty  and 
pleasant,  but  it  is  not  decisive.  I  am  anx- 
ious to  see  what  Spatzig  will  say." 

"  Do  you  consider  Spatzig  decisive  ? " 
asked  Natalie,  constrainedly. 

"  Yes." 

"  But  you  told  me  yourself  that  his  judg- 
ment was  always  one-sided,  prejudiced,  and 
superficial  ;  that  he  was  really  only  a  wit 
and  no  critic,"  murmured  Natalie. 

"  I  still  think  so,  but  nevertheless  he  has 
here  taken  upon  himself  the  monopoly  of 
musical  good  taste,"  replied  Lensky.  "  The 
most  intellectual  part  of  the  public,  that  is 


164  Asbe'tn. 

to  say  all  the  subscribers,  fancy  they  can 
only  consider  an  article  of  his  as  true.  He 
has  taken  out  a  patent  for  it,  like  Marquis, 
in  Paris,  for  good  chocolate.  He  is  witty, 
which  these  people  like.  A  criticism  is  so 
easily  noticed,  one  always  appears  intel- 
lectual if  one  cites  it,  the  more  malicious  it 
is  the  better.  Until  now,  Spatzig  has 
spared  me,  hm — hm —  Boris  smiled 
forcedly.  "  He  even  once  compared  me  to 
Beethoven,  but  recently  he  has  seemed  to 
avoid  me.  Have  you  had  anything  with 
him,  Natalie  ?" 

Natalie  blushed  to  the  roots  of  her  hair. 
"  I  cannot  endure  him,"  said  she  ;  "  and  it  is 
possible  that  he  has  noticed  it ;  in  fact,  in 
reference  to  a  certain  point,  one  cannot 
have  patience  with  a  man." 

"  He  surely  has  not  presumed  upon 
you?"  Lensky  started  up  angrily. 

"  No,  no  !  He  did  not  have  an  opportu- 
nity," said  Natalie,  very  arrogantly.  "  Not 
that :  but  he  has  a  way  of  forcing  himself 
upon  one  ;  of  looking  at  a  woman " 


Asbe'in.  165 

"  That  is  to  say  he  has  bad  manners," 
said  Lensky.  "  Now — 

At  this  moment  there  was  another  ring 
at  the  door-bell.  Shortly  after  the  servant 
brought  on  a  salver  a  whole  pile  of  news- 
papers in  their  wrappings,  which  had  just 
come  by  post.  Lensky  opened  them  hasti- 
ly ;  they  were  all  copies  of  the  same  paper 
— of  Fortschritt,  and  in  every  copy  there 
was  a  twelve-column-long  notice  marked 
with  a  blue  or  black  pencil :  "  A  musical 
enjoyment  by  design  and  intention,"  and 
with  the  motto,  for  title,  "  From  whence 
the  great  discord  arises  which  rings  through 
this  world  (read  opera)." 

Hastily,  Lensky  looked  at  the  signature. 

"Arnold  Spatzig,"  murmured  he,  dully. 
"  I  did  not  know  that  he  also  wrote  for 
Forlschritt. '' 

"  Do  not  read  the  thing,"  said  Natalie, 
who,  with  feminine  quickness,  had  already 
glanced  over  the  article.  "  I  beg  you  ;  why 
should  you  swallow  the  poison  ?" 

But  he  shook  her  roughly  from  him,  bent 


1 66  Asbem. 

over  the  paper,  and  read  half  aloud :  "  If 
there  were  a  musical  '  Our  Father/  the  last 
supplicating  request  would  be :  deliver  us 
from  all  evil,  but  especially  from  all  virtuoso 
music.  By  his  opera,  Lensky  has  again 
given  us  a  significant  example  of  how 
greatly  the  reproductive  activity  of  an 
artist  hinders  the  development  of  his  cre- 
ative powers.  His  first  smaller  composi- 
tions really  had  always  a  certain  melodic 
freshness.  But  in  this  last  work,  Lensky, 
like  all  men  poor  in  invention,  has  shown 
himself  a  follower  of  that  inconsolable  mu- 
sical pessimism  which  regards  ennui  and  a 
feeling  of  universal,  oppressive  discomfort 
as  a  sine  qua  non  of  every  distinguished 
musical  work. 

"  The  public,  in  a  sympathetic  frame  of 
mind  with  the  loved  and  distinguished 
master,  in  the  beginning  of  the  opera 
strained  their  good  taste  so  far  that  they 
desired  the  repetition  of  the  extremely  tire- 
some overture,  made  up  of  badly  connected 
motives,  reminding  one  of  Meyerbeer,  Hal£- 


Asbe'in.  167 . 

vy,  Gounod.  But  with  the  best  inten- 
tions, the  cut-and-dried  wonder  brought 
with  them  was  not  proof  against  the  yawn- 
ing monotony  of  the  never-ending  fourth 
act.  Only  the  grotesque  side  of  the  unfor- 
tunate opera,  which  ever  became  more, 
prominent  in  the  course  of  the  evening, 
helped  the  ill-used  public  over  the  dry 
emptiness  of  this  musical  desert.  One 
could  at  least  laugh  heartily.  What  a  con- 
solation that  was  for  the  spectator,  but 
hardly  one  for  those  who  took  part. 

"  One  cannot  understand  how  such  an 

artist  of  the  first  rank  as  Mr.  could 

submit  to  make  himself  laughable  in  the 
role  of  Conrad. 

Lensky  became  paler  and  paler ;  he 
reached  for  a  glass  of  water. 

"  Do  not  read  any  further,"  begged  Nata- 
lie. "  What  does  it  matter  what  the  liar 
writes  ?  your  music  speaks  for  itself.  This 
evening  you  will  see  how  the  public  will 
applaud  you,  will  receive  you,  to  recom- 
pense you  for  this  pitiful  insult." 


1 68  Asbein. 

The  second  representation  of  "  The  Cor- 
sair" was  fixed  for  that  evening. 

There  was  another  ring  at  the  door-bell ; 
the  servant  brought  a  letter.  Lensky  broke 
it  open  hastily,  and  with  a  furious  gesture 
threw  it  away,  struck  his  fist  on  the  table, 
and  sprang  up.  ^ 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  called  Natalie,  beside  her- 
self. 

"  Nothing  ;  a  trifle  ;  the  opera  is  post- 
poned ;  the  tenor  has  announced  himself 
ill,"  said  Lensky,  cuttingly.  "  He  has  no 
pleasure  in  making  himself  laughable  a 
second  time.  It  is  over  ;  "  passing  the  palm 
of  his  hand  under  his  chin,  with  the  gesture 
by  which  one  understands  that  some  one 
has  been  executed. 

Natalie  rushed  up  to  him,  but  he  impa- 
tiently motioned  her  away,  and  hurried  by 
her  to  the  door.  All  at  once  he  remained 
standing,  reached  under  his  collar,  tore  off 
the  little  gold  chain  with  the  saint's  picture 
which  Natalie  had  hung  round  his  neck  be- 
fore the  first  representation  of  "The  Cor. 


Asbe'in.  169 

sair,"  and  flung  it  at  her  feet.  Then  he 
went  into  his  study.  She  heard  how  he 
locked  the  door  behind  him. 

How  benumbed  she  still  stood  on  the 
same  spot  where  he  had  shaken  her  off 
from  him — he  had  shaken  her  off ! 

How  he  must  suffer  to  pain  her  so ! 
Then  she  bent  down  to  the  poor  little 
amulet  which  he  had  thrown  away.  She 
understood  him.  She  had  never  been  lack- 
ing in  sentimental-poetic  manners,  but  when 
it  was  necessary  to  sacrifice  a  humor  for 
him,  her  love  had  not  sufficed. 

Her  fault  was  great,  but  the  punishment 
was  fearful. 


THIRD    BOOK. 

A  SHORT  time  after  the  fiasco  of  his  op- 
era Lensky  resigned  his  office  in  . 

His  position  there  had  become  unbearable 
to  him.  He  had  made  no  plans  for  the  dis- 
tant future ;  for  the  present  he  travelled 
with  his  family  to  Paris. 

How  happy  Natalie  could  have  felt  here 
if  the  still  depressed  mood  of  Lensky  had 
not  caused  her  such  heavy  anxiety.  Not 
that  he  had  further  shown  himself  in  the 
slightest  degree  disagreeable  to  her — no, 
not  a  single  direct  reproof  crossed  his  lips ; 
he  even,  without  speaking  a  word  about  it, 
begged  her  pardon  for  his  momentary  rough- 
ness by  a  thousand  silent  attentions.  But 
what  good  did  that  do  her?  His  happiness 
was  gone ;  he  was  gloomy  and  taciturn. 
Faint-hearted,  like  all  very  self-indulgent 
men,  even  doubting  his  formerly  revered 


Asbe'in.  171 

talent  as  composer,  for  the  moment  he  had 
completely  lost  his  belief  in  himself. 

She  did  what  she  could  to  distract  him — 
all  was  in  vain.  And  all  might  have  been 
so  pleasant !  The  Parisian  artist  world  was 
so  large  that  she  quite  easily,  avoiding  all 
impure  elements  contained  therein,  could 
associate  only  with  those  who  were  lovable, 
interesting,  and  sympathetic.  Besides,  she 
was  now  ready  for  the  most  exaggerated 
concessions.  If  Lensky  had  wished  to  write 
a  ballet  she  would  have  invited  the  ballet 
dancers  to  breakfast,  and  been  intimate  with 
the  premiere  danseuse.  The  lovely  impru- 
dence which,  even  with  her  uncommon  in- 
tellectual gifts,  still  made  the  foundation  of 
her  petted,  undisciplined  being,  drove  her 
from  one  exaggeration  to  another. 

He  gave  a  succession  of  concerts,  and  all 
Paris  lay  at  his  feet.  Natalie  sat  in  one  of 
the  first  rows  in  the  concert  hall  and  rejoiced 
over  the  triumphs  of  her  husband.  Occa- 
sionally, if  the  hour  for  the  concert  was 
early,  she  brought  her  little  son  with  her 


172  Asbein. 

arid  taught  him  to  be  proud  of  his  father. 
Little  Nikolai  looked  charming  in  his  Rus- 
sian costume,  with  the  broad  velvet  trou- 
sers and  silk  shirt.  He  always  sat  there 
quite  brave  and  quiet,  with  the  solemn  ex- 
pression of  face  of  a  child  whom  one  has 
taken  to  church  for  the  first  time ;  only  if 
the  applause  bursf  out  quite  too  loudly,  he 
became  very  excited  and  stood  up  on  his 
chair  in  order  to  see  his  father  better. 
Then  Natalie  kissed  him,  and  blushed  at 
her  lack  of  restraint.  And  around  them  the 
audience  whispered :  "  That  is  his  child  " — 
Tiens!  il  a  de  la  chance  !  " — "Us  sent  adora- 
bles  tons  les  deux  /" — "On  dit  quelle  est  une 
prince sse  !  " 

After  the  concert  she  went  with  the  little 
fellow  in  the  green-room  to  fetch  her  hus- 
band. The  most  beautiful  women  in  Paris 
crowded  around  him.  He  received  their 
homage  quite  coolly,  and  while  Natalie, 
smiling  and  polite,  did  honor  to  his  fame, 
he  played  with  his  boy,  whom  he  over- 
whelmed with  caresses,  without  being  at 


Asbetn.  173 

all  confused  by  the  presence  of  strangers. 
"  Admire  this  if  you  must  admire  some- 
thing!" he  burst  out  once,  angry  at  the  in- 
trusive enthusiasm  of  a  very  pretty  Amer- 
ican woman,  and  with  that  he  raised  the 
child  on  a  table  to  show  him  to  her.  "  He 
is  worth  the  trouble,"  he  growled,  and  truly 
such  was  the  case ! 

One  day,  about  the  middle  of  May,  when 
Natalie,  somewhat  out  of  breath,  holding 
her  boy  with  one  hand,  and  a  bunch  of  red 
roses  in  the  other,  came  home  to  lunch,  she 
found  Lensky  with  two  strangers  in  the 
little  hotel  drawing-room.  One  of  them 
was  a  young  man  with  long  hair  and  short 
neck,  in  whom  she  recognized  a  famous 
piano  virtuoso ;  the  second,  a  small,  dried- 
up  man,  with  a  yellow,  hard,  sharp  face,  she 
saw  for  the  first  time. 

At  her  appearance  they  both  withdrew. 
Lensky  accompanied  them  out. 

"  How  you  have  hurried,"  said  he  smil- 
ing, when  he  reentered  the  room.  "  You 
are  quite  heated  !  " 


174  Asbein. 

"  Yes,  I  hurried  very  much  ;  I  was  afraid 
I  would  be  late  to  lunch.  I  know  how  you 
hate  unpunctuality."  And  then  she  sat 
down  on  the  sofa,  and  handed  her  hat  and 
shawl  to  the  nurse,  who  had  come  in 
to  get  Nikolinka — a  nurse  by  the  name 
of  Palagea,  in  a  Russian  national  cos- 
tume which  created  a  furore  on  the  boule- 
vard. 

"  Why  did  you  not  take  a  carriage,  little 
goose  ?  "  asked  he. 

"  To  economize,  Boris  Nikolaivitch,"  re- 
plied she,  with  mischievous  earnestness. 
Then  laughing  up  at  him  with  her  great 
tender  eyes,  she  added :  "  Besides,  the  doc- 
tor has  expressly  advised  me  to  take  more 
exercise." 

"  The  doctor  ?"  said  he,  anxiously.  "  Do 
you  feel  ill  ?  Why  did  you  consult  a  phy- 
sician?" 

"Yes,  why?"  murmured  she,  softly. 
"  Sit  down  on  the  sofa  by  me,  so  that  I  can 
whisper  something  to  you." 

"  What  are  you  talking  about?"  said  he, 


Asbe'in.  175 

hoarsely,  without  stirring.  "  What  do  you 
mean?  What?" 

"  You  are  fabulously  uncomprehending 
to-day,"  laughed  she,  and  went  up  to  him. 
"  One  cannot  scream  such  a  thing  across 
the  whole  room,  and  as  the  mountain  will 
not  come  to  Mahomet" — she  had  now  be- 
come very  red ;  laying  her  hand  on  his 
shoulder,  she  whispered  :  "  O  Boris  ;  can  you 
still  not  guess  ?  »  t  .  I  am  so  glad  !  " 

"  Natalie  !  "  he  burst  out.  "  You  do  not 
mean  to  say  "  .  .  .  He  shook  her  from 
him,  stamped  his  foot,  and  with  a  furious 
exclamation  left  the  room. 

Ten  minutes  later,  when  he  entered  the 
little  dining-room  where  they  had  served 
lunch,  Natalie's  maid  announced  that  he 
must  not  wait  for  her  mistress,  as  she  was 
feeling  ill.  He  hurried  to  her  bedroom. 
She  sat  on  a  sofa,  her  hands  in  her  lap. 
Her  great  eyes  stared  into  the  distance,  she 
looked  like  a  corpse. 

He  sat  down  by  her,  drew  her  on  his 
knee,  and  overwhelmed  her  with  caresses. 


176  Asbe'in. 

"You  are  right  to  be  angry,  quite  right. 
I  was  detestable,"  said  he ;  "  but  you  know 
what  a  bear  you  have  for  a  husband.  It  is 
only  because  I  love  you  so  dearly  that  now, 
just  now,  the  thing  is  so  inconvenient.  Oh, 
my  little  dove,  my  heart !  "  He  pressed 
the  palms  of  her  hands  to  his  lips  and 
stroked  her  cheeks. 

Every  vexation  melted  away  in  the 
warmth  of  his  manner.  She  suddenly  be- 
gan to  sob,  but  not  from  grief. 

"  Do  you  think,  then,  that  I  would  not 
have  been  glad  ?  "  he  said  to  her  tenderly. 
"  But  now,  do  you  see,  just  now — 

Then  he  told  her  the  state  of  affairs. 
The  man  in  the  Havana  brown  overcoat 
was  the  famous  impressario  Morinsky,  with 
whom  Lensky  had  just  made  an  engage- 
ment for  a  concert  tour  in  the  United 
States.  Morinsky  had  offered  him  a  small 
fortune.  "  You  know  how  hard  it  is  for  me 
to  part  from  you,"  he  concluded.  "  I  wished 
to  take  you  with  me — you  and  the  boy,  for 
he  can  put  off  school  for  another  year.  I 


Asbe'in.  177 

thought  it  was  the  most  favorable  moment, 
and  now — it  is  so  stupid,  so  horribly 
stupid  !  " 

She  had  listened  very  quietly;  now  she 
raised  her  head  and  said  uneasily : 

"  And  now  you  naturally  will  have  to  give 
up  the  American  project?" 

"  That  is  impossible,"  replied  he,  turning 
his  face  from  her,  "  but  I  will  try — that  is, 
I  will  put  off  my  departure  in  any  case  until 
the  great  event  is  over." 

"And  then?"  She  had  slipped  down 
from  his  knee  and  walked  up  and  down  the 
room  uneasily.  "  And  then  ?  "  she  repeated, 
while  she  beat  on  the  floor  quite  imperi- 
ously with  the  tip  of  her  little  foot. 

"  Then,"  said  he  slowly.  "  Well,  then 
you  must  either  decide  to  accompany  me 
and  leave  the  children  behind,  or  I  must  go 
alone." 

"  How  long  will  you  stay  away  ? "  she 
asked  with  short  breath. 

"  Eight  months,  ten  months." 

"  So — ten  months  !  "    she   spoke   slowly. 


178  Asbein. 

"  And  you  will  part  from  me — voluntar- 
ily, without  compelling  necessity — for  ten 
months?  " 

Her  face  had  become  ashy,  the  words  fell 
harsh  and  cutting  from  her  dry  lips. 

"  You  must  not  take  the  thing  so  desper- 
ately," replied  Lensky,  with  an  embarrass- 
ment which  did  not  escape  her.  "  Ten 
months  are  soon  over." 

Something  that  sounded  half  like  a  laugh, 
half  like  a  cry  of  anguish  escaped  her  lips. 
She  stroked  the  hair  back  from  her  temples 
with  both  hands.  Her  eyes  had  suddenly 
become  unnaturally  large,  and  were  opened 
uncommonly  wide.  They  were  no  longer 
the  eyes  of  a  usually  wise  woman. 

"  Ten  months  !  "  she  murmured,  with  ex- 
tinguished voice,  like  one  who  speaks  in  the 
midst  of  an  oppressive  dream,  "  ten  months 
— do  you  no  longer  remember  how  you 
used  to  miss  me,  if  it  was  only  a  question 
of  weeks,  of  days,  and  not — ten  months  ! 
But  this  is  no  separation,  this  is  a  final  part- 
ing, this  is  the  end  of  all !  Oh,  do  not  look 


Asbein.  179 

at  me  so ! — I  am  not  crazy,  I  know  what  I 
am  saying — I  know  very  well!  You  will 
come  back — certainly  you  will  come  back, 
if  no  malicious  illness  snatches  you  away 
during  your  journey ;  but  how  will  you 
come  back?  Like  a  stranger  you  will  return 
under  your  own  roof,  and  a  stranger,  from 
that  hour,  will  you  remain.  You  will  have 
acquired  other  customs,  other  needs;  the 
tender  restrictions  of  family  life  will  confine 
you  like  a  forced  burden  !  The  good,  and 
magnificent,  and  beautiful  in  you  will  still 
exist,  because  it  is  immortal  like  everything 
that  is  god-like ;  but  it  will  be  grown  wild 
and  soiled,  and  I  will  no  longer  be  able  to 
force  my  way  through  what  has  towered  be- 
tween me  and  your  heart !  And,  more  than 
all  that,  the  sweet  voice  which,  until  now, 
has  whispered  such  wonderful  songs  within 
you,  will  be  silenced  in  the  confusion  of 
your  wandering  life ;  your  genius  will  no 
longer  be  able  to  express  itself,  it  will  from 
then  burn  in  you  like  a  great  unrest,  and 
you  will  feel  the  treasure  which  Providence 


i8o  Asbetn. 

has  implanted  in  you  as  an  oppressive  bur- 
den, and  will  no  longer  be  able  to  find  the 
magic  word  which  can  lift  this  treasure!  " 

He  stared  gloomily  before  him. 

"Ah,  Boris!  do  not  sin  against  yourself, 
because  I  have  sinned  against  you,"  Natalie 
began  once  more,  with  hoarse,  broken  voice. 
"  Do  not  let  your  wings  be  broken  by  this 
first  disappointment.  Your  opera  was  won- 
derfully beautiful — yes — but  it  was  not  the 
best  that  you  can  give !  Give  your  best,  it 
will  stand  so  high  that  the  hand  of  envy 
can  no  longer  reach  it.  Have  patience, 
sacrifice  the  virtuoso  to  the  composer  in 
you,  and  you  will  see  what  a  splendid  re- 
ward you  will  reap !  " 

With  heavily  contracted  brows,  he  list- 
ened to  this  speech,  vibrating  with  des- 
peration. When  Natalie  had  ended,  he 
remained  silent.  She  believed  she  had  con- 
quered. Leaning  against  him  she  laid 
both  arms  around  his  neck,  and  whispered 
to  him  :  "  You  will  stay,  Boris — will  you 
not  ? — you  will  stay  !  " 


Asbe'in.  181 

For  a  little  while  he  let  her  stay,  then  he 
freed  himself  from  her  arms,  as  one  frees 
one's  self  from  a  shackle,  and  called  out : 
"  It  cannot  be — torment  me  no  longer — I 
must  go ! "  With  that  he  sprang  up  to 
leave  the  room.  At  the  door  he  turned 
round  to  Natalie,  and  said:  "Are  you 
coming?  Lunch  will  be  cold." 

"  Presently  !  "  said  Natalie,  "  presently  !  " 
She  shivered,  she  felt  the  chill  of  a  great 
fright  in  all  her  members.  It  was  worse 
than  she  had  believed!  Something  allured 
him  away.  After  the  first  unpleasant  sur- 
prise at  the  frustration  of  his  plans  had  dis- 
appeared, he  rejoiced  at  the  opportunity  of 
being  able  to  free  himself  from  the  chain, 
and  to  separate  himself  from  his  family  for 
a  time.  What  she  had  feared  for  the  fut- 
ure had  already  arrived — the  gypsy  ele- 
ment in  his  nature  had  awakened  ! 

The  agreement  between  Lensky  and  the 
impressario  was  really  completed,  the  con- 
tract was  signed,  Lensky's  departure  fixed 


1 82  Asbe'tn. 

for  the  beginning  of  October.  Meanwhile, 
he  would  pass  the  summer  quietly  with  his 
wife,  in  the  country,  in  the  vicinity  of 
Paris. 

The  place  which  Natalie  chose  was 
about  an  hour's  journey  from  Paris,  and 
perhaps  fifteen  minutes  from  the  railway- 
station,  a  charming  old  house  in  the  shadi- 
est corner  of  a  park,  in  the  midst  of  which 
a  large  castle  stood  empty.  The  castle 
was  modern  ;  the  house,  on  the  contrary,  a 
carefully  reconstructed  ruin  of  the  time  of 
Francis  First.  The  castle  was  called  "  Le 
Chateau  des  Ormes,"  and  the  small  house 
"  L'Er£mitage."  The  last  owner  had  re- 
stored it,  in  order  that  his  favorite  daughter 
might  pass  her  honeymoon  there.  Since 
the  daughter  had  died  the  Hermitage 
stood  empty,  and  to  reside  in  the  castle 
was  painful  to  the  owner.  Both  were  to 
let.  Lensky  left  the  choice  to  his  wife. 
What  would  she  have  done  with  the  large 
castle  ?  The  Hermitage  pleased  her  better. 
The  windows  were  all  irregular,  one  small 


Asbein.  183 

and  narrow,  another  very  broad,  all  sur- 
rounded by  artistically  carved  and  voluted 
stone  framings.  The  trees  grew  up  high 
above  the  roof,  and  through  the  whole  day 
sang  sweet,  dreamy  songs,  to  which  a  little 
brook,  that  ran  close  by  the  house,  fur- 
nished a  harmonic  accompaniment. 

The  ground  floor  was  built  in  accordance 
with  the  architecture  of  the  early  Renais- 
sance period,  with  brown  beams  across  the 
ceilings  of  the  room,  and  artistic  wainscot- 
ing on  the  walls.  Gigantic  marble  mantels, 
iron  chandeliers  and  sconces,  and  heavy 
furniture  did  what  they  could  to  transport 
the  spectator's  imagination  back  to  the 
much  sung  old  times  of  gay  King  Francis. 
At  the  right  and  left  of  the  entrance  door, 
set  far  back  in  its  carved  niche,  grew  lilies, 
tall  and  slender;  they  were  in  full  bloom  when 
the  married  pair  moved  in,  and  their  white 
heads  nodded  in  a  friendly  manner  through 
the  windows  of  the  rooms  even  with  the 
ground.  Sage,  lavender,  and  centifolias 
bloomed  at  their  feet,  tall  rose-bushes 


184  Asbe'in. 

nodded  a  fragrant  greeting  to  them  from 
above.  The  branches  of  the  old  trees  be- 
fore the  windows  were  thick  enough  to 
partially  exclude  the  sunbeams  if  they  be- 
came too  intrusive  ;  not  thick  enough  to 
completely  bar  the  way  for  them. 

In  this  lonely  solitude,  Natalie  fought  a 
last  time  for  her  happiness.  She  tried  to 
make  her  whole  home  as  attractive  and 
poetic  as  possible,  so  that  in  Lensky's  re- 
membrance something  might  remain  for 
which  he  must  long.  She  no  longer  tor- 
mented him  with  jealous,  isolating  tender- 
ness, but  cared  for  his  distraction  and  in- 
tellectual as  well  as  artistic  recreation.  She 
knew  how  to  allure  not  only  the  first  musi- 
cians in  Paris,  but  celebrities  of  the  most 
different  kinds  from  the  capital  and  sur- 
rounding villas,  to  the  Hermitage ;  earnest 
men  of  lofty  aims  and  noble  endeavors,  to- 
gether with  an  animation  and  susceptibility 
which  did  away  with  the  hindering  respect 
which  towers  between  every  plain,  modest 
child  of  man  and  great  people.  It  always 


Asbein.  185 

gave  Natalie  pleasure  to  see  Lensky  in  the 
company  of  these  prominent  men.  He 
grew  in  such  surroundings. 

He  was  never  very  talkative ;  his  intellec- 
tual capabilities  were  of  a  heavy  calibre,  un- 
suited  for  the  purposes  of  small  talk.  But 
how  he  listened,  what  questions  he  asked  ! 
Then,  quite  without  haste,  he  would  make 
some  remark  so  peculiarly  sharp  and  far- 
reaching  in  reference  to  some  impending 
political,  artistic,  or  literary  question,  that, 
every  time,  an  astonished  silence  would 
follow. 

One  of  the  guests  once  remarked :  "  If 
Lensky  mingles  in  the  conversation,  it  is  as 
if  one  fired  a  cannon  between  pistol  shots." 

He  was  not  one-sided  in  his  interests, 
as  other  musicians.  When  one  learned  to 
know  him  more  intimately,  for  every  accu- 
rate observer  it  had  always  the  appearance 
that  his  musical  capabilities  formed  only  a 
part  of  his  universally  abnormally  gifted 
nature. 


1 86  Asbe'in. 

Quietly  and  still  animatedly  passed  the 
days,  weeks,  and  months.  Natalie  never 
spoke  of  the  approaching  separation. 

An  inexplicable  discomfort  tormented 
Lensky.  Natalie  had  guessed  rightly — he 
had  concluded  the  engagement  with  Morin- 
sky  with  quite  precipitate  haste,  not  only 
in  order  thereby  to  win  the  opportunity  of 
acquiring  with  one  stroke  a  large  sum  of 
money  which  would  put  an  end  to  his  pe- 
cuniary difficulties,  but  because  in  inter- 
course with  the  old  friends  of  his  bachelor 
days  in  —  — :  he  had  first  significantly  real- 
ized how  much  he  had  had  to  restrain  him- 
self to  live  morally  and  uprightly  at  the 
side  of  his  wife ;  and  because  his  gypsy  na- 
ture, bound  for  years,  now  demanded  its 
rights. 

Still  it  vexed  him  that  Natalie  remained 
so  calm  in  the  face  of  the  approaching 
parting.  Now,  when  the  farewell  drew 
near,  his  heart  failed  him.  Did  she,  then, 
no  longer  love  him  ? 

The  thought  was  unbearable  to  him,  pre- 


Asbe'in.  187 

vented  him  from  working.  He  wrote  every- 
thing wrong  on  the  note  paper. 

The  lilies  were  dead,  the  days  became 
short,  and  the  first  leaves  fell  in  the  grass, 
but  the  foliage  was  still  thick,  only  here  and 
there  one  saw  a  yellow  spot  in  a  bluish 
green  tree,  and  the  rustling  had  no  longer 
the  old  soft  sound. 

"  The  trees  have  lost  their  voice,  they 
have  become  hoarse,  the  old  melting  sound 
is  gone  !  "  said  Natalie.  The  roses,  in  truth 
bloomed  more  beautifully  than  in  summer ; 
still  one  saw,  significantly,  the  approach 
of  autumn,  and  Lensky  had  the  repug- 
nant feeling  that  near  by  something  lay 
dying. 

His  work  did  not  please  him.  Three 
times  already  he  had  heard  Natalie  pass  by 
his  door;  each  time  he  had  thought,  now 
she  will  come  in  ;  he  had  already  stretched 
his  arms  out  to  her,  but  she  did  not  come. 
He  threw  away  his  pen  and  sprang  up  to 
look  for  her. 

It  was  a    late  September  afternoon.     It 


1 88  Asbetn. 

had  rained  for  three  days,  and  the  air  was 
cool. 

Natalie  sat  in  the  brown-wainscoted 
ground-floor  sitting-room,  in  one  of  the 
gigantic,  high-backed  arm-chairs  near  the 
chimney,  in  which  flickered  a  gay  wood  fire. 
The  windows  were  open.  The  noise  from 
without  of  the  rain  drops  softly  gliding 
down  between  the  leaves,  the  blustering  of 
the  high  swollen  brook,  mingled  with  the 
crackling  and  popping  of  the  burning 
wood. 

In  the  middle  of  the  room,  on  a  large 
table  with  a  dark-red  cover,  stood  a  copper 
bowl  filled  with  champagne-colored  Gloire 
de  Dijon  roses.  From  without  came  the 
melancholy  odor  of  autumnal  decay  and 
mingled  with  the  sweet  breath  of  the 
flowers. 

The  veil  of  twilight  sank  down  from  the 
mighty  rafters  of  the  ceiling.  The  corners 
of  the  large,  somewhat  low  room  were  al- 
ready, as  it  were,  rounded  off  by  brown 
shadows.  Freakish,  pale  reflections  slid 


Asbetn.  189 

over  the  dark  wainscoting,  and  over  the 
brass  and  copper  dishes  which  adorned  it. 

Little  Kolia  crouched  on  a  stool  before 
his  mother,  and  with  both  tiny  elbows 
rested  on  her  lap,  gazed  earnestly  and  at- 
tentively up  at  her. 

One  could  think  of  nothing  more  charm- 
ing than  this  mother  and  this  child.  In- 
voluntarily Lensky's  heart  beat  high  in  his 
breast.  "  How  beautiful  my  home  is,  how 
happy  I  am  here.  Why  am  I  really  going 
away?  "  he  asked  himself. 

"  Ah  !  "  cried  Natalie  when  he  entered, 
pleased  and  at  the  same  time  surprised, 
for  his  appearance  at  this  hour  was  some- 
thing quite  unusual.  "  Do  you  wish  any- 
thing?" 

He  shook  his  brown,  defiant  head  silently 
and  sat  down  near  the  chimney  opposite 
her.  The  little  boy  had  sprung  up,  embar- 
rassed, and  now  leaned  against  his  mother, 
with  his  little  arm  round  her  neck. 

"  You  have  been  telling  him  fairy  tales," 
began  Lensky. 


190  Asbein. 

"  Oh,  no  !  I  told  him  of  the  ocean,  and 
how  one  lives  and  is  housed  on  the  wide 
boundless  water — of  the  ocean  and  of 
America.  Before  it  was  too  dark  we  were 
busy  with  something  much  more  impor- 
tant," said  Natalie,  and  she  pointed  to  alow 
child's  table  which  was  covered  with  writing 
materials  and  lined  paper.  "  Show  papa 
what  we  have  finished,  Nikolinka." 

The  little  boy  became  very  red  and  drew 
his  brows  together.  "  But,  mamma,"  said 
he,  excitedly  stamping  his  foot,  "  why  do 
you  tell  that  ?  It  is  a  surprise." 

His  mother  stroked  the  offended  child's 
cheek  soothingly.  "  We  will  not  give  papa 
your  letter  to  read,  only  show  it  to  him,  so 
that  he  can  be  pleased  with  it.  Bring  it, 
Nikolinka." 

Resistingly  the  little  fellow  freed  himself 
from  his  mother,  then  he  brought  the  docu- 
ment, which  was  concealed  behind  a  vase, 
and  carried  it,  with  importance  as  well  as 
embarrassment,  to  his  father.  On  the  al- 
ready extensively  sealed  envelope,  between 


Asbe'in.  191 

three  lines,  stood  the  unformed,  but  neatly 
and  industriously  written  letters  : 

A 
MONSIEUR  BORIS  LENSKY, 

EN 

AM£RIQUE. 

"  The  letter  is  to  be  sent  to  you  when 
you  are  over  there,"  explained  Natalie. 

"  How  nicely  the  wight  writes  for  his  five 
years,"  said  Lensky  touched,  looking  at  the 
envelope.  "  You  guided  his  hand,  Na- 
tascha  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no  !  "  declared  Natalie. 

"  But  you  prompted  him?" 

"  Certainly  not ;  he  thought  it  out  all  by 
himself;  did  you  not,  Nikolinka?"  said  Na- 
talie. 

The.  little  one  nodded  earnestly  ;  he  was 
quite  crimson  with  pride  and  embarrass- 
ment. His  father  took  him  between  his 
knees,  called  him  "  Umnitza,"  which  in 
Russian  means  paragon  of  wisdom,  kissed 
and  caressed  him,  then  rang  the  bell  for 


192  Asbe'in. 

Palagea,  and  told  him  he  must  go  now  and 
wash  his  hands,  and  have  his  curls  brushed 
smooth,  and  then  he  should  take  dinner 
with  his  parents,  because  he  had  been  so 
clever. 

When  the  child  had  tripped  out  at  the 
nurse's  hand,  Lensky  threw  himself  down  on 
the  stool  at  his  wife's  feet.  It  had  now 
become  quite  dark.  The  heavy,  regular- 
falling  rain  still  rustled  in  the  foliage  with- 
out, in  a  dreamy,  melancholy  cadence. 

"  Listen ;  how  sweet,  how  sad ! "  said 
Natalie,  turning  her  head  to  the  window, 
through  which  the  landscape,  behind  its 
double  veil  of  rain  and  twilight,  looked  to 
one  like  a  greenish-gray  chaos  only,  without 
any  distinct  outlines. 

"  The  D-flat  major  prelude  of  Chopin," 
said  Lensky. 

She  shook  her  head.  "  No,  I  did  not 
think  of  that,"  whispered  she.  "  But  see  ! 
Sometimes  it  seems  to  me  that  the  ghost 
of  the  poor  young  wife  who  died  here 
creeps  around  the  Hermitage,  and  sighs  for 


Asbe'in.  193 

the  happiness  which  she  might  not  finish 
enjoying.  She  died  after  the  first  year, 
while  I,  Boris — I  was  happy  six  years. 
It  is  too  much  for  one  human  life.  Some- 
times— it  is  a  sin ;  I  know  it — and  still, 
sometimes  I  quite  wished  I  might  die,  but  I 
dare  not ;  Kolia  still  needs  me." 

Soon  after  this  she  brought  a  little  girl 
into  the  world,  who  was  baptized  Marie, 
after  the  grandmother  and  the  little  dead 
sister. 

A  few  weeks  passed,  she  convalesced  rap- 
idly. The  day  of  farewell  came,  on  which 
ever)1'  one  hastened,  with  everything  over- 
hurried,  incessantly  imagined  there  was  too 
much  to  do  in  preparing  for  the  journey, 
and  finally  had  nothing  more  to  do.  The 
day  on  which  all  the  usual  occupations 
were  sacrificed  in  honor  of  the  pain  of  part- 
ing, when  one  aimlessly  trifled  away  the 
hours,  tormented  by  nervous  unrest,  which 
finally  expressed  itself  in  the  dullest  ennui. 


194  Asbetn. 

They  sat  together ;  now  here,  now  there, 
and  did  not  know  what  to  do.  Lensky  was 
to  take  the  six  o'clock  train  to  Paris ;  from 
there,  the  same  evening,  he  would  travel 
with  Morinsky's  troupe  to  Boulogne,  for 
they  would  take  ship  in  Liverpool  for 
America. 

The  dinner-hour  was  changed  from  seven 
to  four,  lunch  and  breakfast  were  combined 
at  ten  o'clock.  These  irregular  hours  took 
away  one's  appetite,  accustomed  to  regular 
hours,  and  increased  the  general  discomfort. 

In  order  to  kill  the  last  half-hour  before 
dinner  they  took  a  walk  through  the  im- 
mense, solitary  park.  Kolia  went  with  them. 

It  was  a  beautiful  October  day,  with  a 
blue  heaven  over  which  only  filmy  white 
clouds  spread  themselves,  and  from  which 
the  sun  looked  down  so  sadly  and  mildly  as 
only  the  October  sun  looks  down  on  the 
dying  beauty  of  the  year.  Masses  of  foliage 
still  hung  on  the  trees,  but  it  was  already 
withered — it  no  longer  lived.  And  in  the 
midst  of  the  windless  peace,  one  heard, 


Asbein.  195 

again  and  again,  the  gentle  sighing  of  a  dead 
leaf  that  fell  on  the  turf. 

Both  the  parents  were  silent,  only  the 
little  boy  asked,  from  time  to  time,  tender, 
important  questions  of  his  father,  whom  he 
loved  very  much,  although  he  felt  a  kind  of 
shyness  of  him.  At  first  Lensky  led  the 
child  by  the  hand,  then  he  took  him  in  his 
arms,  in  order  to  have  the  pleasure  of  hold- 
ing the  supple  little  body  quite  closely  to 
him  and  feel  the  soft,  warm  little  arms 
round  his  neck. 

They  hurried  back  to  the  house  so  as  not 
to  delay  dinner,  and  naturally  arrived  much 
too  early. 

"  Play  me  something  for  a  farewell," 
begged  Natalie. 

"  One  of  the  Chopin  nocturnes  which  I 
transposed  for  your  sake?"  asked  he. 

"  No,  just  what  you  have  in  your  heart," 
replied  Natalie. 

He  took  up  his  violin.  It  was  the  same 
violin  which  he  had  tried  •  in  the  Palazzo 
Morsini,  the  Amati  which  Natalie  had  given 


196  Asbc'in. 

him  when  they  were  betrothed.  He  was  very 
excited,  and  became  paler  with  every  stroke. 

The  whole  desperation  of  a  great  nature 
which  feels  an  unavoidable  degradation  ap- 
proaching, spoke  from  his  improvisation,  and 
in  the  midst  of  the  passionate  and  painful 
madness  rose  melodies  so  pure,  so  beauti- 
fully holy,  like  the  resting  in  heart-felt 
prayer  of  a  nature  all  in  uproar. 

When  he  had  finished  and  wished  to  put 
the  violin  back  in  the  case  in  which  he 
should  take  it  with  him  to  America,  Natalie 
took  it  from  his  hand. 

"What  do  you  wish  with  it?"  he  asked. 

She  kissed  the  violin  and  then  handed  it 
to  him.  "  Here  you  have  it,"  said  she,  very 
softly.  "  It  will  never  sing  so  again  until 
you  return." 

At  last  the  servant  announced  that  dinner 
was  served.  They  sat  down  to  the  execu- 
tioner meal,  the  executioner  meal  for  which 
all  his  little  favorite  dishes  had  been  pre- 
pared, at  which  everything  was  so  abundant 
and  so  good,  only  the  appetite  was  lacking. 


Asbe'in.  197 

It  was  still  light  when  they  went  to  din- 
ner. The  light  slowly  died  in  the  course 
of  the  meal.  The  words  fell  seldomer 
and  more  seldom  from  Lensky's  lips;  there 
was  a  leaden  silence ;  the  brook  sobbed 
without. 

Lensky  held  his  wine-glass  toward  Nata- 
lie. "  To  a  happy  meeting  !  "  said  he  ;  "  to 
a  happy  meeting!"  She  repeated,  dully: 
"  I  will  await  you  here  next  year  when  the 
roses  bloom."  He  pressed  her  hand ;  he 
could  not  contain  himself  during  the  whole 
meal,  but  got  up  before  the  dessert  and 
began  to  walk  up  and  down  restlessly. 

"  You  have  still  time,"  Natalie  assured 
him  ;  "  the  coffee  will  come  immediately." 

"  Thanks  ;  is  baby  asleep  ?  I  would  like 
to  give  her  a  kiss  before  I  go." 

They  brought  little  Maschenka.  He  kissed 
and  blessed  the  tiny,  rosy  child,  bundled  up 
in  lace  and  muslin.  He  has  kissed  Kolia, 
loudly  crying  from  excitement,  and  commis- 
sioned him  to  be  brave  and  not  to  grieve  his 
mother. 


198  Asbein. 

Now  he  goes  up  to  his  wife.  They  have 
brought  the  lamps ;  he  wishes  to  see  her 
distinctly  before  he  goes.  She  tries  to 
smile  ;  she  raises  her  arms  to  stretch  them 
out  to  him — the  arms  sink. 

"  My  heart,  be  reasonable,"  says  he,  and 
draws  her  to  him.  A  fearful  groan  comes 
from  her  lips  ;  she  presses  her  mouth  against 
his  shoulder  so  as  not  to  scream  aloud  ;  her 
form  shook. 

He  held  her  to  him  so  tightly  that  she 
could  scarcely  breathe.  For  one  moment 
he  is  all  hers — it  is  the  last  in  her  life ! 
She  knows  it !  The  happiness  of  her  love 
rallies  once  more  in  a  feeling  of  awful, 
delirious  happiness,  and  dies  in  a  kiss ! 

Now  he  has  gone  !  She  accompanied  him 
to  the  house-door.  There  she  now  stands 
and  gazes  along  the  street,  through  the 
twilight,  where  he  has  disappeared  between 
the  trees.  It  did  not  seem  to  her  that  she 
had  parted  from  a  dear  man  who  was  about 
to  make  a  journey.  No ;  as  if  they  had 
carried  a  corpse  out  of  the  house.  It  is  all 


Asbein.  199 

over — all !  Whatever  further  comes  is  only 
more  dry  bitterness  and  inconsolable  tor- 
ment of  the  heart.  She  sees  his  footprints 
in  the  half  darkness.  Why  had  she  not 
accompanied  him  to  the  railway?  she  asks 
herself,  why — why?  From  stupid  anxiety, 
from  pride  of  giving  the  few  loafers  at  the 
station  the  sight  of  her  despair  had  she 
renounced  the  pleasure  of  enjoying  his 
presence  until  the  last  moment  ?  She  steps 
outdoors,  hurries  her  steps,  wishes  to  hurry 
after  him,  to  see  him  once  more,  only  one 
moment — then  the  loud  voice  of  the  rail- 
road bell  breaks  the  universal  silence — a 
shrill  whistle — it  is  over !  She  falls  down, 
buries  her  face  in  the  cool  autumn  grass  at 
the  edge  of  the  garden  path,  and  sobs  as 
one  sobs  over  a  fresh  grave. 

About  three  hours  later,  Lensky,  with 
his' colleagues  and  Morinsky,  sat  penned  up 
in  a  coup£  of  the  first  class.  The  train  was 
over-full,  there  were  eight  of  them  in  the 
small  compartment. 


2OO  Asbe'in. 

In  one  corner  slept  Morinsky,  his  fur 
collar  drawn  up  over  his  ears,  his  head 
covered  with  a  fez,  whose  blue  tassel 
waved  to  and  fro  over  his  left  ear,  which 
lent  his  sharp  yellow  face  a  diabolical  ex- 
pression. 

Opposite  him  sat  an  old  woman  with  a 
copper  colored  skin,  and  held  a  basket  of 
lunch  on  her  knees.  At  first  she  had  un- 
interruptedly chewed  and  smacked  her  lips, 
now  she  snored.  She  was  the  mother  of 
a  famous  staccato  singer,  who,  large  and 
blond,  with  her  head  and  shoulders  pru- 
dently wrapped  in  a  red  fascinator,  embroid- 
ered with  gold,  and  painted,  and  smelling 
of  cosmetics,  coquetted  with  the  'cellist,  a 
very  effeminate  young  man  who  looked 
like  an  actor.  They  had  spread  a  shawl 
over  their  knees,  and  the  diva  laid  the 
cards  for  him,  which  gave  occasion  for  the 
most  entertaining  allusions. 

The  accompanist  of  the  troupe,  a  pedan- 
tic young  pianist,  afflicted  with  a  chronic 
hoarseness,  which  alone  prevented  him 


Asbe'in.  201 

from  becoming  a  tenor  of  the  first  rank, 
formed  the  public  to  the  beautiful  duet, 
while  he  laughed  loudly  at  every  particu- 
larly poor  witticism. 

The  'cellist  and  the  diva  were  very  famil- 
iar with  each  other,  and  both  constantly 
made  use  of  expressions  of  the  commonest 
kind. 

The  laughter  of  the  diva  became  ever 
shriller,  while  that  of  the  'cellist  sounded 
ever  deeper  from  his  boots. 

Opposite  Lensky,  the  short-armed,  fat 
piano  virtuoso  of  the  troupe,  a  very  solid 
father  of  a  family,  who  tried  to  sleep,  and 
from  time  to  time  looked  round  angrily  at 
the  disturbers  of  his  rest  ;  and  near  Lensky, 
wrapped  in  furs  to  the  tip  of  her  nose,  sat 
a  new  prima  donna,  Signora  Zingarelli,  of 
whom  Morinsky  promised  himself  the  high- 
est success,  a  beautiful,  red-haired  Belgian, 
with  long,  narrow  sphinx  eyes.  She  had 
tried  to  enter  into  conversation  with  Len- 
sky, but  he  had  turned  from  her,  mono- 
syllabic and  coarse. 


2O2  Asbe'in. 

The  train  sighed  and  groaned.  Fiery 
clouds  flew  by  the  window  in  the  black 
night.  The  close  atmosphere  in  the  coupe, 
the  odor  of  paint,  musk,  fat  meat,  hot  fur 
and  coal,  maddened  Lensky ;  he  wished  to 
open  one  of  the  windows — the  singers  pro- 
tested, Morinsky  awoke,  settled  the  dis- 
pute : — the  window  remained  closed. 

A  terrible  longing  for  his  love,  for  his 
beautiful,  poetic  home,  came  over  Lensky. 
He  thought  of  his  last  night  journey,  with 
wife  and  child,  quite  alone  in  a  coupe.  He 
saw  the  charming  serpentine  lines  which 
the  slender,  supple  figure  of  his  young  wife 
described  on  the  cushions.  She  slept.  Her 
little  head  rested  on  a  red  silk  cushion 
which  she  took  about  with  her  on  all  her 
travels.  How  tender  and  delicate  her  pro- 
file stood  out  from  that  colored  ground! 
She  coughed  in  her  sleep ;  he  stood  up  to 
draw  the  fur  mantle  which  covered  her 
closer  up  around  her  shoulders.  Drunk 
with  sleep,  she  opened  her  eyes  and  with 
half  unconscious  tenderness  rubbed  her 


Asbe'in.  203 

smooth,  cool  cheeks  against  her  hand.  The 
sweet  fragrance  of  violets  which  exhaled 
from  her  person  smote  his  face.  Then — 
a  jolt ! — He  started  up — he  must  have 
slept.  In  any  case  he  had  dreamed.  His 
travelling  companions  all  slept  now  ;  their 
heads  on  their  breasts,  only  the  pretty  red- 
haired  head  of  the  Zingarelli  lay  on  Len- 
sky's  shoulder.  She  opened  her  long,  nar- 
row eyes,  smiled  at  him — a  shrill  whistle — 
the  train  stopped. 

"  Amiens  !  "  cried  the  conductor.  "  Am- 
iens !  "  All  got  out. 

While  his  colleagues  plundered  the  res- 
taurant, Lensky,  smoking  a  cigarette,  wan- 
dered around  the  platform  alone.  The 
others  had  all  taken  their  places  again, 
when  Morinsky,  who  had  gotten  out  to 
look  for  him,  and  saw  him  wandering  to 
another  coupe",  called  after  him :  "  Here, 
Monsieur  Lensky,  here !  " 

But  Lensky  only  stamped  his  foot  im- 
patiently :  "  Leave  me  in  peace,  I  am  not 
obliged  to  make  the  whole  journey  in  the 


2O4  Asbe'in. 

same    cage    with    your    menagerie ! "     he 
said. 

Six  weeks  later  not  a  trace  of  his  home- 
sickness remained.  At  the  artist  banquet, 
which  usually  followed  the  concerts,  sym- 
posiums which  began  with  bad  witticisms 
and  ended  with  an  orgy,  he  was  the  most 
unrestrained,  the  wantonest  of  all. 

He  was  like  one  who,  suddenly  relieved 
from  the  pressure  of  iron  fetters,  at  first, 
unaccustomed  to  every  free  movement,  can 
scarcely  move  his  limbs,  but  afterward  can- 
not weary  of  stretching  them,  and  moving 
them  in  unlimited  freedom. 

He  broke  every  bond,  indulged  every 
humor.  He  no  longer  thought  of  Natalie 
and  the  children,  he  did  not  wish  to  think 
of  them.  Remembrance  was  ashamed  to 
follow  him  on  the  way  he  now  went. 

It  was  hard  for  him  to  write  to  his  wife, 
but  it  was  still  harder  for  him  to  read  her 
letters.  And  yet  she  wrote  so  charmingly, 
so  lovingly !  She  did  not  say  much  of  her- 


Asbein.  205 

self,  but  so  much  the  more  of  the  children, 
especially  of  Kolia.  With  what  shining 
eyes  he  listened,  when  she  read  the  reports 
of  the  triumphs  of  his  father  to  him,  she 
wrote,  and  how  he  seized  every  newspaper 
that  he  saw,  and  then  asked  her :  "  Is  there 
anything  in  it  about  papa?  "  and  how,  with 
his  little  playmates — she  passed  the  winter 
with  her  mother,  in  Cannes — he  boasted  im- 
portantly of  the  homage  which  fell  share 
to  his  father,  and  how  she  did  not  have  the 
heart  to  reprove  him  for  it.  How  he  drew 
ships  incessantly,  and  how  she  made  use  of 
the  interest  which  he  took  in  his  father's 
journey  to  give  him  his  first  lessons  in  geog- 
raphy, and  many  other  such  tender  trifles. 

These  letters  vexed  him  ;  when  he  had 
read  them,  he  despised  himself  and  his  sur- 
roundings, and  for  two,  three  days,  remained 
melancholy  and  unsociable. 

At  last  he  no  longer  read  them,  at  most 
only  glanced  over  them,  convinced  himself 
hastily  that  "  all  was  as  usual,"  and  then 
folded  them  up  and  laid  them  aside. 


206  Asbein. 

Then  came  the  time  when  he  told  himself 
it  was  foolish  to  have  such  scruples.  He 
was  what  he  always  had  been,  an  excep- 
tional man,  a  Titanic  nature.  He  could  not 
be  judged  like  the  others,  he  could  not  have 
exercised  his  compelling  charm  over  the 
masses  without  the  fiery  violence  of  his 
temperament.  His  success  was  wonderful. 
Since  they  had  celebrated  the  reception  of 
Jenny  Lind  with  discharge  of  cannon  in 
New  York  or  Boston — history  differs  as  to 
which,  is  always  careless  in  relation  to  prima 
donnas — no  artist  had  received  more  hom- 
age than  Boris  Lensky.  The  women  espe- 
cially seemed  as  if  bewitched  by  him. 

He  did  not  take  the  situation  sentiment- 
ally, but  rather  cynically ;  still  he  accus- 
tomed himself  to  the  horrible  noise  of  the 
public,  which  followed  his  performances,  to 
the  cries  of  the  crowd  which  accompanied 
him  without,  when  he  left  the  concert  hall, 
to  the  illuminated  streets  in  which  every 
window  was  filled  with  gazers  when  he 
drove  home. 


Asbein.  207 

When  the  excitement  was  once  over,  a 
kind  of  shame  overpowered  him.  What 
signified  these  virtuoso  triumphs  ?  People 
always  applauded  the  stupidest  piece  the 
loudest.  He  attained  no  such  effect  with  a 
sonata  of  Beethoven,  or  Schumann,  as  with 
a  mad  tarentella  which  he  had  composed 
long  ago  for  his  wonderful  fingers,  and  of 
which  he  was  now  ashamed. 

In  Boston,  he  omitted  this  tarentella, 
which  had  become  a  nightmare  to  him, 
from  the  programme. 

The  people  remained  lukewarm,  and  so 
much  already  did  his  over-excited  nerves 
desire  the  shrill  storm  of  applause,  that  he 
voluntarily  added  the  trivial  and  wearying 
piece  of  artifice — he,  who  had  formerly  so 
despised  his  virtuoso  triumphs! 

The  lilies  stand  straight  and  slender,  with 
golden  hearts  in  their  deep,  white  calices, 
right  and  left  of  the  door  of  the  little  Her- 
mitage,  into  which  Natalie  has  again  moved 
when  the  first  roses  bloom. 


208  Asbein. 

It  is  July.  Lensky  has  fixed  his  return 
for  the  fifteenth.  "  Afternoon,  with  the  first 
train  that  I  can  catch ;  but  do  not  worry  if 
I  should  be  late,"  said  his  letter. 

Not  at  the  station,  no,  only  to  the  hedge 
which  incloses  the  park,  will  Natalie  go  to 
meet  him. 

Kolia  quivers  with  impatience.  Natalie 
counts  the  hours,  draws  out  her  watch — it 
has  stopped.  She  hurries  in  the  dining-room 
to  consult  the  clock  on  the  mantel,  and  dis- 
covers Kolia,  who,  kneeling  on  a  chair, 
moves  the  hands. 

"What  are  you  doing?"  says  she,  laugh- 
ing. 

The  boy  sighs  impatiently.  "  I  am  fixing 
the  clock,  mamma.  I  am  sure  it  must  be 
sick,  it  goes  too  slowly  to-day." 

How  she  kisses  him  for  it !  How  pleased 
she  will  be  to  tell  Boris  of  it ! 

"  Hark  ! " 

A  shrill  sound  of  a  bell,  a  penetrating 
whistle  ;  the  train  has  come. 

She  fetches  her  little  daughter,  who  has 


Asbe'tn.  209 

had  a  charming  little  white  dress  put  on 
her,  in  honor  of  her  father's  arrival. 

With  the  little  one  on  her  arm,  and  Kolia 
at  her  hand,  she  steps  out  under  the  lindens, 
which  are  in  full  bloom,  and  throw  a  sunlit 
shadowy  carpet  over  the  path.  Oh,  how  her 
poor  heart  beats  !  She  kisses  the  tiny  hands 
of  her  little  daughter  from  excitement,  looks 
scrutinizingly  at  the  little  child.  Will  he 
think  her  pretty? 

She  stands  at  the  hedge  of  the  park,  looks 
out  on  the  street,  gazes,  waits,  sees  the  peo- 
ple return  from  the  railroad.  Now  he  must 
come !  but  no,  the  white,  dusty  street 
is  empty  ;  a  scornfully  whispering  breeze 
blows  away  the  footprints  of  the  last 
passer-by,  a  couple  of  white  linden-blos- 
soms fall  from  the  tree-tops — he  has  not 
come ! 

And  with  slow  steps,  as  one  wearily  drags 
himself  along  after  a  great  disappointment, 
she  turns  toward  the  house.  Kolia  gives 
a  deep  sigh.  "  I  don't  understand  it, 
mamma,"  says  he. 
14 


2io  Asbein. 

"  Papa  will  come  with  the  next  train  ;  he 
has  missed  this  one,"  his  mother  consoles 
him. 

For  a  while  he  trips  silently  beside  her, 
then  suddenly  raising  his  head  and  looking 
at  her  with  his  earnest,  thoughtful  child's 
eyes,  he  says  : 

"  We  would  not  have  missed  the  train, 
would  we,  mamma?  " 

And  once  more  the  bell  sounds  in  the 
solemn  quiet,  and  Natalie's  heart  beats 
loudly — and  he  comes  not. 

Ever  sadder,  she  wanders  through  the 
empty  rooms,  into  which  the  sunlight 
presses  through  a  shady,  cool,  perfumed  cur- 
tain of  foliage. 

"  How  can  one  stay  an  hour  longer  than 
one  must  in  the  sultry,  dusty,  sunny, 
wearying  Paris  ?  "  she  asks  herself. 

Meanwhile  Lensky  sits  with  his  col- 
leagues in  the  Trots  Freres  at  a  breakfast 
which  began  at  one  o'clock,  and  now  at  five 
o'clock  has  not  yet  ended.  A  breakfast  at 


Asbe'in.  2 1 1 

which  all  laugh  and  make   jokes — only  he 
broods  silently. 

He  is  satiated  with  this  rope-dancer's 
existence — heartily  satiated — he  longs  for 
his  home,  for  his  dear,  incomparable  wife, 
but  he  delays  the  moment  of  meeting  as 
long  as  he  can.  A  kind  of  shame  contracts 
his  throat  at  the  thought  of  meeting  her 
eyes.  He  knows  she  will  ask  him  no  ques- 
tions, but  still 

Once  more  the  railway  bell  has  in  vain 
startled  Natalie  and  her  little  son.  Even- 
ing has  come.  The  excellent  little  dinner 
which  was  prepared  in  honor  of  the  return 
has  been  served  and  taken  away  quite 
untouched.  Kolia  incessantly  pulls  his 
mother's  sleeve  and  asks  ever  more  impor- 
tunately: "Why  does  not  father  come? 
Why  does  he  not  come  ?  " 

Maschenka  has  long  been  divested  of  her 
white  muslin  finery,  and  lies  in  her  cradle. 
Kolia  obstinately  refuses  to  go  to  bed  until 
his  father  has  returned.  Weary  and  tearful 


212  Asbein. 

he  wanders  from  one  corner  of  the  drawing- 
room  to  the  other  and  will  not  play. 

Now,  with  little  head  on  his  arm,  he  has 
fallen  asleep  over  his  picture  books  at  a  low 
child's  table. 

The  roses  which  Natalie  arranged  so  care- 
fully in  the  vases  wither.  The  white  dra- 
peries of  her  dress  are  limp  and  tumbled. 

Once  again  the  bell  rings.  It  is  the  last 
train  to-day.  She  does  not  wake  Kolia. 
Why  should  he  uselessly  vex  himself  this 
time  also  ? 

Softly  she  steps  on  the  porch.  The 
moon  stands  in  the  heavens  ;  the  trees  'are 
black.  A  gray,  transparent  mist  arises 
from  the  earth  which  obliterates  all  con- 
tours. The  flowers  smell  unusually  sweet, 
and,  in  luxuriant  melancholy,  confess  so 
much  to  the  pale,  cold  moon  that  they  have 
shamefacedly  been  silent  about  to  the  sun. 

Why  does  the  little  brook  sob  so  loudly? 
Can  it  not  be  silent  a  moment?  Natalie's 
whole  being  is  now  only  a  strained,  longing 
listening.  Why  does  her  heart  beat  so 


Asbe'tn.  213 

loudly?  Why  does  her  strong  imagination 
charm  up  things  in  the  stillness  which  do 
not  exist  ?  Or — no — no  ;  she  hears  a  sigh, 
a  step,  slow,  slow  !  Who  can  that  be  ?  No 
man  walks  so  slowly  who  after  long,  oh, 
how  long  absence,  returns  to  wife  and  child  ! 
It  is  a  messenger  of  misfortune,  who  delays 
to  announce  some  ill  news  to  her. 

Then,  from  out  the  shadow,  in  the  foggy 
moonlight,  comes  a  broad-shouldered  form. 

"  Boris ! "  calls  Natalie,  half  to  herself. 
She  cannot  go  to  meet  him — she  cannot. 
Trembling  in  her  whole  body,  she  stands 
there,  in  the  carved  Gothic  portal,  against 
the  bright  golden  background  of  the  lighted 
hall ;  stands  there  in  her  white  dress,  be- 
tween the  tall,  pale  lilies,  like  an  angel  be- 
fore the  door  of  a  church,  into  which  a 
wicked  sinner  would  like  to  slip. 

"  Is  it  you,  at  last?"  she  breathes  out. 

"  Yes ;  I  am  somewhat  late.  You  know, 
with  one's  colleagues,  one  must  offend  no 
one  ;  it  is  always  so." 

How  rough  his  voice  sounds!     How  fleet- 


214  Asbe'in. 

ingly,  how  hastily  he  kisses  her.  Is  she 
dreaming? 

"  How  are  you  ;  how  are  the  children  ?  " 
He  steps  in  the  hall,  blinking  uneasily  in 
the  light. 

Is  this  really  the  man  to  whose  coming 
she  has  so  foolishly,  so  breathlessly  looked 
forward  ?  This  irritable,  heavy  man  with 
the  tumbled  clothes,  the  badly  arranged 
hair,  the  fearfully  altered  face,  with  a  new 
expression  of  God  knows  what !  Her  feet 
refuse  her  their  service  ;  she  catches  hold  of 
a  support,  and  sinks  down  in  a  chair. 

"  How  pale  you  are,  Natalie ! "  says  he. 
"  Are  you  ill  ?  " 

"  No — no — only — I  have  waited  for  you 
since  five  o'clock.  I — I  thought  you  would 
never  find  the  way  back  to  us." 

For  an  instant  he  hesitates ;  then  he 
sinks  at  her  feet,  embraces  her  knees  with 
both  arms.  He,  who  at  parting  had  not 
shed  a  tear,  now,  at  their  meeting,  sobs  like 
a  desperate  one.  What  pretext,  what  false- 
hood can  he  utter?  As  if  his  colleagues 


Asbe'in.  2 1 5 

could  have  withheld  him  if  he  had  only 
really  wished  to  come  home  ! 

"  O  Natalie  !  Natalie  !  Pardon  me.  We 
all  fear  to  return  to  Heaven  when  we  have 
accustomed  ourselves  to  Earth.  Natalie  ! 
be  good  to  me;  never  let  me  leave  you 
again." 

He  had  plunged  a  dagger  in  her  heart, 
but  her  whole  tenderness  is  awakened. 

She  bends  over  him,  strokes  his  rough 
hair  with  her  tender,  white  hand.  "My 
poor  genius  !  "  she  whispers  gently.  "  My 
poor,  dear  genius  ! " 

"  Papa !  "  calls  a  silvery  voice,  joyfully. 
"Pa — pal"  he  repeats,  hesitatingly,  fright- 
ened. Kolia  has  run  up. 

If  he  lives  to  be  a  hundred  years  old  he 
will  never  forget  how  he  saw  his  father  sob- 
bing at  his  mother's  feet  after  the  first  long 
separation. 

Then  he  did  not  understand,  but  later  he 
understood — understood  only  too  well. 

How  sad  life  is  :  how  sad  ! 


216  Asbcin. 

It  was  the  morning  after  his  arrival.  Len- 
sky  stood  at  the  window  of  his  room,  and 
looked  down  in  the  quiet  garden.  The  little 
brook  which  tumbled  down  the  hill  at  the 
side  of  the  Hermitage  with  exaggerated  vio- 
lence, quite  like  a  little  waterfall,  in  front 
of  the  house  from  whence  Lensky  looked 
down  on  it,  plashed  quite  calmly,  earnestly, 
and  dreamily  along  its  here  scarcely  sus- 
ceptibly descending  bed,  and  bore  away  on 
its  dark  waves  only  as  much  of  the  sunshine 
as  could  reach  it  between  the  lindens.  A 
cool  breeze  rose  from  the  water,  all  around 
was  dark  green,  dewy  and  luxuriant — lux- 
uriant without  the  slightest  indication  of 
decay,  without  the  least  trace  of  approach- 
ing withering. 

And  what  an  abundance  of  roses  stood 
out  in  gay,  blooming  colors  against  the 
sober,  dark-green  background  !  Great  Mare'- 
chal  Niel  roses,  with  heavy,  earthward-bent 
heads,  dark-red  Jacqueminot,  fiery  Baroness 
Rothschild,  delicate  pink,  capriciously  crum- 
pled La  France.  The  Gloire  de  Dijon  roses 


Asbem.  217 

climbed  quite  in  the  window  of  his  room  in 
their  race  with  the  quite  small,  pert  little 
running  roses. 

Light  steps  crunched  the  gravel,  large  and 
small  steps.  Natalie  stepped  out  from  the 
shady  lindens  in  front  of  the  house.  She 
held  her  little  daughter  in  her  arms.  Kolia 
walked  near  her,  and  with  the  important 
earnestness  of  six  years  carried  a  basket- 
ful of  strawberries,  which  he  had  evidently 
just  helped  his  mother  pick.  One  could 
think  of  nothing  more  charming  than  the 
young  woman  in  her  white  morning-dress, 
with  its  lilac  ribbons,  and  the  tiny,  rosy  be- 
ing in  her  arms.  The  little  thing  was  bare- 
headed, and  her  little  arms  and  feet  were 
also  bare.  She  quivered  and  danced  with 
animation.  There  she  discovered  a  butter- 
fly, cried  out  gayly,  and  clapped  her  little 
hands. 

"  Oh,  are  you  ready  so  soon  ?  "  called  Nat- 
alie, when  she  saw  her  husband  at  the  win- 
dow. "  Come  to  breakfast ;  1  have  had  the 
table  laid  in  the  garden." 


218  Asbe'in. 

He  hurried  down.  The  breakfast-table 
stood  in  a  shady  spot,  over  which  the  bloom- 
ing lindens  reached  their  branches. 

Oh,  what  a  table  !  How  very  pretty  the 
Rouen  service  made  it!  a  service  whose 
old-fashioned  gayness  combined  harmoni- 
ously the  most  incongruous  colors,  set  out 
on  the  dazzling  white  damask  table-cloth. 
How  inviting  and  appetizing  everything 
was !  These  curiously  shaped  dishes,  with 
their  fragrant  burden  of  still  warm  golden 
cakes  and  rolls  of  pale  yellow  butter  be- 
tween glittering  pieces  of  ice,  and  ham  cov- 
ered with  transparent  aspic !  Around  the 
greenish  twilight,  fragrant,  cool,  only  here 
and  there  the  reddish  glimmer  of  a  sun- 
beam curiously  wandered  into  the  shadow, 
and  now  held  captive  by  the  lindens. 

When  she  saw  her  father  coming,  little 
Mascha  became  quite  unruly,  almost  danced 
out  of  her  mother's  arms,  and,  without  re- 
sisting, let  herself  be  taken,  hugged,  and 
kissed  by  him.  While  he  held  her  in  his 
arms,  Kolia  seized  her  little  bare  legs, 


Asbe'in.  219 

and  pressed  his  mouth  to  her  tiny  pink 
feet. 

"  She  is  charming,  a  beauty !  Is  that 
really  my  daughter,  can  something  so  won- 
derfully pretty  have  such  an  ugly  man  for 
father  ? "  he  said  from  time  to  time, 
laughingly,  tenderly,  while  he  kissed  her 
bare  shoulders,  and  especially  the  dimple  in 
her  neck,  again  and  again. 

"  She  looks  very  like  you,  your  pretty 
daughter,"  jested  Natalie.  "  More  than  the 
boy  !  It  vexes  him  if  I  say  that,  and  I  also 
would  prefer  it  to  be  the  other  way." 

Lensky  laughed  somewhat  constrainedly. 
The  nurse  came  up  to  get  baby. 

"  Just  a  moment,"  said  Lensky,  swinging 
the  little  thing  high  in  the  air,  to  its  great 
delight,  "  so — and  one  more  kiss  on  the 
eyes,  the  neck,  on  these  dear,  sweet  little 
hands,  so " 

The  nurse  already  had  the  little  thing  in 
her  arms,  when  the  sweet  little  rogue  looked 
round  at  her  father. 

Meanwhile,   Natalie  busied    herself  with 


22O  Asbein. 

the  samovar,  which  stood  on  a  small  stand 
near  the  breakfast  table.  No  servant  was 
near,  Kolia  helped  mamma  serve  tea,  and 
waited  with  a  sober  expression  until  his 
mother  had  confided  the  cup  for  his  father 
to  him.  Carefully,  as  if  he  held  the  Holy 
Grail  in  his  hands,  he  carried  it  over  to 
Lensky.  Natalie  sat  down  opposite  her 
husband,  and  buttered  him  a  piece  of  bread. 

He  looked  at  her  with  a  peculiarly  sad, 
touched  look.  "  You  are  all  much  too  good 
to  me,"  he  murmured  ;  then  he  added,  ten- 
derly :  "  Either  I  had  really  forgotten  dur- 
ing my  absence  how  beautiful  you  are,  or 
you  have  really  gained  in  charm." 

How  awkwardly  that  came  out !  how 
stumblingly !  He  had  wished  to  say  some- 
thing loving  to  her,  but  he  had  not  suc- 
ceeded well.  He  felt  it  himself.  A  petu- 
lant smile  shone  in  her  sad  eyes  at  his  well, 
or  much  rather,  badly  put  little  speech. 
Some  reply  trembled  on  her  lips,  then  she 
suddenly  closed  her  lovely  mouth,  as  if  she 
feared  her  husband  would  take  what  she 


Asbe'tn.  221 

wished  to  say  somewhat  ill,  and  busied  her- 
self in  fastening  a  napkin  round  Kolia's  neck. 

After  a  while  Lensky  began  anew  :  "  How 
charming  my  home  is.  Ah,  Natalie,  how 
have  I  renounced  it  all  for  so  long !  How 
could  I  exist  so  long  without  you  ! " 

"  If  you  only  are  really  pleased  over  your 
return  we  will  make  no  further  remarks 
about  your  absence,"  said  Natalie  very  lov- 
ingly, and  then  hesitated  with  embarrass- 
ment and  blushed  to  the  roots  of  her 
hair. 

Breakfast  took  its  course.  Here  and 
there,  by  turns,  Natalie  and  Lensky  made  a 
remark,  but  the  conversation  did  not  be- 
come fluent.  A  strange  irritation  vibrated 
in  every  nerve  of  the  virtuoso.  Formerly 
there  had  been  no  end  of  talking  between 
them,  and  now —  What  was  she  thinking 
of,  to  speak  about  the  weather  as  if  he  were 
any  guest  to  whom  one  feels  obliged  to  be 
polite,  and  to  whom  one  does  not  know 
what  to  say,  because  no  common  interest 
unites  him  with  us? 


222  Asbe'in. 

He  remembered  the  words  which  she  had 
spoken  in  the  Hotel  Windsor  at  that  time 
before  the  conclusion  of  his  contract  with 
Morinsky  :  "  As  a  stranger  you  will  return 
to  us,  and  a  stranger  you  will  remain  among 
us  from  that  time." 

Was  she  right  ?  Foolishness  !  She  had 
only  become  a  little  too  distinguished 
among  the  wearisome  crowd  with  whom 
she  had  passed  the  winter.  The  forced 
mood  which  reigned  between  them  was  her 
fault,  not  his. 

"  You  are  so  stiff  and  formal,  Natalie,"  he 
remarked  at  last,  vexedly,  quite  irrelevantly. 
"  You  have  again  accustomed  yourself  to 
such  fearfully  aristocratic  manners." 

"  How  can  you  say  anything  so  foolish  ?  " 
she  answered  him,  laughing  constrainedly. 

"  Oh,  it  is  not  laughable  to  me,"  he 
growled,  and  suddenly,  without  any  reason, 
only  to  air  his  inward  uneasiness,  he  burst 
out :  "  It  is  painful  to  me,  I  cannot  endure 
it— cannot  bear  it."  He  pushed  his  cup 
away  with  an  involuntary  motion. 


Asbe'tn.  223 

"  But,  Boris !  "  Natalie  admonished  him. 
"My  poor,  unaccountable,  dear  genius!" 
She  looked  at  him  so  roguishly  therewith 
that  his  anger  was  scattered  to  the  four 
winds. 

He  stretched  out  both  his  hands  to  her 
across  the  table  ;  she  took  them.  He  bent 
somewhat  forward,  wished  to  draw  her 
hands  to  his  lips,  when  a  light  step  was 
heard  on  the  gravel.  Natalie  blushed,  and 
with  a  quick,  almost  frightened  movement, 
drew  them  away  from  him.  He  scowled 
angrily.  Before  whom  was  she  embarrassed 
then? 

A  young  woman  in  a  very  elegant  negligt 
costume,  profusely  trimmed  with  Valen- 
ciennes lace,  without  hat,  and  a  yellow  par- 
asol in  her  hand,  stepped  up  to  the  breakfast 
table.  She  resembled  Natalie,  although  she 
was  smaller,  stouter,  and  the  features  of  her 
pretty  face  were  coarser.  Lensky  recog- 
nized in  her  his  wife's  sister,  Princess  Jelia- 
gin,  a  person  whom  he  detested  from  the 
bottom  of  his  heart,  even  if  he  had  until 


224  Asbe'in. 

now  only  known  her  slightly,  before  his 
marriage  with  Natalie.  Kind  friends  had 
told  him  that  she  had  described  his  alliance 
with  her  sister  as  une  chose absurde.  Wife  of 
a  rich,  quite  incompetent  diplomat,  she  had 
during  her  ten  years'  life  in  foreign  coun- 
tries made  all  the  most  absurd  aristocratic 
prejudices  her  own,  and  was  always  ad- 
dressed as  "  Princess,"  although  her  hus- 
band had  no  title.  With  all  these  Western- 
Europe  grimaces  she  combined  something 
of  her  Russian,  half  Asiatic  exaggeration, 
by  which  she  became  still  more  grotesque 
and  tactless.  In  spite  of  her  boasted  ex- 
clusiveness  she  had  never  quite  learned  to 
understand  the  shades  of  foreign  society, 
and  made  frequent  mistakes  in  her  choice 
of  acquaintances. 

Besides  this,  with  all  her  weaknesses  and 
affectations,  she  was  good  natured  to  silli- 
ness, and  hospitable  to  prodigality. 

"  So  early  in  the  morning,  Barbe — what  a 
surprise!"  Natalie  called  to  her,  while  she 
tried  not  to  let  it  be  perceived  how  inoppor- 


A  she  in.  225 

tune  her  sister's  visit  was  to  her  just  at 
that  moment.  "  That  is  charming,  I  must 
introduce  my  husband  to  you." 

"  We  know  each  other  already,  at  least  I 
hope  that  Boris  Nikolaivitch  remembers  me 
— once  in  St.  Petersburg,  at  the  Olins.  In 
any  case,  I  am  very  happy  to  renew  the  ac- 
quaintance," remarked  the  Jeliagin,  and  at 
once  reached  him  her  fat  little  hand,  in  a 
buckskin  garden  glove.  Her  voice  was  gut- 
tural and  rough,  her  whole  face,  as  Lensky 
could  now  see  plainly,  was  painted. 

"How  are  you,  Nikolas?"  She  turned 
to  little  Kolia,  while  she  stroked  his  head  in 
a  friendly  manner.  "  Please  greet  a  person, 
or  have  I  fallen  as  deeply  in  your  displeas- 
ure as  my  Anna?  I  assure  you  that  I  can- 
not help  it  if  she  talks  foolishly.  Only 
think,  Boris  Nikolaivitch,  he  cudgelled  my 
daughter  Anna,  day  before  yesterday,  be- 
cause she  ventured  to  assert  that  a  prince 
was  greater  than  a  genius.  He  answered 
her  that  not  even  an  emperor  was  greater. 
A  genius  came  next  to  the  dear  God,  and 
15 


226  Asbe'in. 

as  she  would  not  agree  to  that,  he  struck 
her,  and  hard." 

The  Jeliagin  laughed.  Lensky  also 
laughed  involuntarily,  but  remarked  in  a 
tone  of  admonition  to  his  son,  who  had 
shyly  concealed  himself  behind  his  mother: 
"  A  boy  should  never  strike  a  girl ;  that  is 
not  proper." 

"  But  why  did  she  say  such  foolish  things?" 
little  Nikolas  defended  himself,  while  he 
wrinkled  his  small  forehead.  "  I  cannot 
bear  that,  and  then  she  is  larger  than 
lr  so  much  " — he  measured  the  width  of  his 
hand  above  his  head. 

"  She  gave  him  quite  a  scratch,  she  was 
not  defenceless,"  said  Barbara  Alexandrov- 
na,  while  she  sat  down  and  closed  her  um- 
brella. "  But  to  come  to  something  more 
interesting,"  she  continued;  "we  have,  in 
spirit,  followed  you  on  every  step  of  your 
American  triumphal  march,  Boris  Nikolai- 
vitch ;  the  newspapers  gave  us  the  guide 
thereto.  I  hope  we  will  now  see  very  much 
of  you.  Natascha  can  tell  you  how  well  all 


Asbe'in.  227 

artists  are  received  at  our  house, — and  h'm ! 
— and  if  it  is  a  question  of  a  relation — h 
propos,  could  you  not  come  and  dine  with 
us  this  evening?  We  are  quite  entre  nous, 
only  Lis,  Princess  Zriny,  that  eccentric 
Hungarian,  Marinia  Lowenskiold,  a  good 
friend  of  yours,  you  remember  her,  a  few 
diplomats,  etc.  ;  and  we  are  bored  as  only 
gens  du  monde  are  bored  if  they  have  been 
together  under  the  same  roof  for  ten  days. 
Natalie  can  tell  you  how  bored  we  are — 
merely  people  from  our  coterie,  who  know 
each  other  by  heart ;  if  you  please.  And 
how  stupid  we  are  !  ha,  ha,  ha  !  In  despera- 
tion we  arranged  a  race  in  the  drawing-room 
yesterday.  Arthur  de  Blincourt,  while 
jumping  a  barrier,  dislocated  a  joint,  and 
now  lies  on  a  lounge,  and  lets  himself  be 
looked  after.  But  we  all  long  for  a  new 
element — on  vous  attend  comme  le  Messie, 
Boris  Nikolaivitch.  You  will  come,  will 
you  not?  We  dine  at  eight  o'clock." 

While    she    chattered    on   with    self-sat- 
isfied   fluency,    it    seemed    to    Boris    as    if 


228  Asbe'in. 

some  one  scratched  a  knife  on  a  porcelain 
plate. 

'"Why  does  she  roll  her  eyes  so  inces- 
santly when  she  speaks  ?  They  do  not  look 
more  beautiful  when  one  sees  so  much  of 
their  orange-yellow  whites,"  he  thought  to 
himself.  Aloud  he  only  remarked  :  "  Do 
you  really  believe  that  I  would  amuse  you 
better  than  a  drawing-room  race?" 

"  Ha,  ha,  ha  !  "  laughed  she.  "  That  is 
splendid !  I  must  repeat  it  to  Marinia 
Lowenskiold,  who  raves  about  you.  You 
will  come,  will  you  not  ?" 

"  No,  I  will  not  come,"  replied  he  sharp- 
ly. "  I  do  not  feel  myself  equal  to  the  task 
of  amusing  a  dozen  gens  du  monde  who 
are  bored." 

"  Well,  as  you  will,"  said  the  Jeliagin, 
shrugging  her  shoulders.  "  Try  to  persuade 
him  before  evening,  Natalie,  and  come,  or 
send  me  word.  I  must  go,  we  wish  to  ride 
out  en  bande,  at  eight.  Adieu  !  Give  me 
your  hand,  please,  Kolia,  and  come  and 
lunch  with  us.  Anna  will  be  pleased,  and 


Asbe'in.  229 

you  shall  have  strawberries  and  whipped 
cream.  Adieu !  "  _With  that  she  went 
away. 

Lensky  stared  gloomily  before  him  for  a 
while,  then  he  struck  his  clenched  fist  on 
the  table  so  that  all  the  dishes  rattled : 
"  From  whence  did  this  goose  drop  down  so 
suddenly  ?  "  asked  he. 

"  She  lives  in  the  castle  in  the  park," 
said  Natalie.  "  She  has  hired  it  for  the 
summer." 

"  So  !  "  grumbled  Lensky.  "  Now  if  I 
had  known  that,  I  should  never  have 
thought  of  coming  here." 

"  But  I  wrote  you  of  it." 

"  Not  a  word." 

"  Certainly,  in  many  letters ;  did  you  not 
have  time  to  read  them  ?  " 

Instead  of  replying  to  this,  for  him  very 
unpleasant  remark,  Lensky  said,  in  increas- 
ing rage :  "  Oh  !  now  I  understand  the 
change  which  has  taken  place  in  you.  She 
is  horrible,  your  sister !  For  what  does  she 
hold  me,  that  she  takes  this  tone  with  me  ?  " 


230  Asbe'in. 

"  I  cannot  help  her  lack  of  tact,"  replied 
Natalie,  gently  and  reproachfully. 

"Ah,  you  are  still  influenced  by  your 
relations,  by  that  narrow  stupid  crowd," 
he  growled,  crimson  with  rage.  "  You  are 
condescending  to  me,  yes,  that  is  the  right 
word,  condescending,  indulgent.  Why  do 
you  start  back  from  me  when  this  silly  ma- 
chine comes  near?  Are  you  then  ashamed 
of  our  love  before  her?  " 

"  Our  love !  "  repeated  Natalie,  with 
broken  voice,  strangely  emphasizing  the 
word  "  our." 

He  did  not  suspect  anything  from  the 
trembling  sadness  of  her  voice,  and  did  not 
once  look  at  her. 

Meanwhile  he  felt  the  anxious  touch  of  a 
silky,  soft  child's  hand.  Little  Kolia  had 
come  up  to  his  father,  and  whispered  to  him 
shyly  and  pleadingly  :  "  Papa,  mamma  is 
crying." 

Lensky  looked  up,  frightened.  Yes,  she 
had  done  her  utmost  to  courageously  smile 
through  the  unpleasant  scene,  but  her  over- 


Asbem.  231 

excited  nerves  could  not  bear  it ;  she  sobbed 
convulsively. 

"  But  Natalie,  my  angel,  my  little  dove  !  " 
He  could  not  see  any  woman  weep,  least  of 
all  his  wife,  whom  he  loved.  He  sprang  up, 
took  her  in  his  arms,  covered  her  eyes,  her 
mouth,  her  whole  face  with  kisses.  "  Do 
not  torment  yourself,  my  treasure !  You 
are  much,  much  too  good  to  me ;  you  are 
an  angel !  How  could  you  ever  take  such  a 
rough  clown  as  I  am  ?  We  are  not  suited 
to  each  other,  Natascha." 

"  Oh,  Boris  !  do  you  mean  that  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  mean  it,"  said  he,  gloomily. 
"  Better,  a  hundred  times  better,  would  it 
have  been  for  you  if  you  had  never  seen 
me !  You  are  so  charming,  so  good,  and  I 
love  you  so  idolatrbusly ;  but  I  am  a  fearful, 
a  horrible  man,  and  I  cannot  always  govern 
myself — I  cannot !  I  will  yet  torment  you 
to  death,  my  poor  Natalie!"  And  he  did 
not  cease  to  caress  and  to  kiss  her. 

Then  she  raised  her  head  from  his  shoul- 
der, and  looking  at  him  from  eyes  still  shin- 


232  Asbe'in. 

ing  with  tears,  with  a  glance  full  of  tender 
fanaticism  she  said  :  "  What  does  it  mat- 
ter, even  if  you  kill  me  ?  it  would  still  be 
beautiful !  I  would  change  with  no  woman 
in  God's  world,  do  you  hear,  with  none  ! 
Think  of  what  I  have  said  to  you  to-day 
when  one  day  you  give  me  a  last  kiss  in  my 
coffin  ! " 

Lensky  could  no  longer  get  back  into  the 
old  ways  at  home  ;  however  much  he  tried, 
he  could  not.  As  in  the  former  year,  only 
more  significantly,  more  tormentingly,  the 
feeling  of  growing  discontent  made  itself 
felt  in  him.  It  seemed  to  him  as  if  he 
could  not  remain  for  any  length  of  time  on 
the  same  spot ;  as  if  he  must  incessantly 
seek  something  which. was  no  longer  any- 
where to  be  found. 

For  a  couple  of  days  he  ill-humoredly 
stayed  away  from  the  castle,  but  when  his 
brother-in-law  paid  him  a  visit  and  repeated 
the  invitation  of  Barbara  Alexandrovna  in 
the  most  polite  manner, — when  one  day,  all 


Asbe'in.  233 

the  ladies  staying  at  the  castle  as  guests 
had  come  out  in  a  body  to  give  him  an  ova- 
tion— and  especially  when  he  had  become 
immeasurably  weary  of  the  poetic  monoto- 
ny of  life  in  the  Hermitage  ;  he  replied  to 
Natalie,  when  she  once  asked  him  smilingly, 
with  the  intention  of  freeing  him  from  his 
own  constraining  obstinacy,  whether  he 
thought  it  was  really  worth  the  trouble  to 
longer  play  the  bear:  "  No!  " 

From  that  time,  he  passed  every  evening 
in  the  castle. 

At  first  Natalie  had  been  glad  that  the 
social  intercourse  there  offered  him  a  dis- 
traction. But  soon  the  evenings  in  "  Les 
Ormes "  became  a  torment  to  her.  The 
hateful  change  which  had  taken  place  in 
him  during  his  long  absence  from  his  fami- 
ly, that  change  which  Natalie  had  predicted, 
and  by  which  she  yet  had  been  frightened 
at  his  return,  as  by  something  quite  unex- 
pected, never  became  more  significant  than 
during  these  evenings  at  the  castle. 

If,  during  the  first  years  of  his  marriage, 


234  Asbe'in. 

through  the  lovely  influence  of  his  young 
wife,  and  especially  through  the  wish  to 
satisfy,  to  please  her  in  everything,  he  had 
learned  with  quite  incredible  rapidity  to  fol- 
low the  usual  social  customs  of  the  country, 
and  no  longer  to  bear  himself  in  the  world 
as  a  genius,  but  as  any  other  cultivated, 
well-bred  man,  he  had  completely  forgotten 
it  during  his  vagabond  life,  or  rather  it  had 
become  wearisome  to  him. 

More  than  ever,  his  circle  of  action  in  a 
drawing-room  limited  itself  to  producing 
music  and  then  being  raved  over  by  ladies. 
The  incessant  self-bewilderment  in  this 
smoke  of  incense  how,  where  and  when- 
ever it  might  be,  had  become  a  necessity  of 
existence  for  him.  Everything  in  him  had 
gone  wild,  even  his  art. 

Together  with  a  preference  for  perilous 
technical  artifices,  challenging  musical  un- 
restraint of  every  kind  showed  itself. 
Oftener  than  ever  he  fell  into  those  mad 
moods  in  which  he  demanded  things  of  his 
poor  violin  which  it  could  not  perform, 


Asbein.  235 

until  it  groaned  and  screamed  as  if  in  the 
torments  of  hell,  and  if  he  had  formerly  com- 
plained that  he  could  not  govern  himself, 
he  now  boasted  of  it.  It  was  his  specialty, 
by  which  he  was  distinguished  from  all  the 
virtuosos  of  his  time.  And,  in  spite  of  all 
the  underlying  lack  of  restraint  and  the 
impurity,  that  the  sense-enslaving  glow  of 
his  art  now  unfolded  stronger  than  before, 
there  could  be  no  doubt.  Especially  over 
the  feminine  portion  of  his  listeners  his 
playing  exercised  a  quite  degrading  charm. 
The  triumphs  which  he  achieved  in  "  Les 
Ormes  "  proved  this. 

He  profited  by  the  situation.  Although 
it  would  have  been  tiresome  to  him  to  have 
passed  a  whole  evening  among  these  people 
of  the  world,  far  removed  from  all  his  most 
intimate  interests  of  life,  without  playing, 
he  sometimes  let  himself  be  urged  almost 
to  lack  of  taste  before  he  took  up  his  vio- 
lin. It  happened  once  that  he  waited  until 
a  particularly  crazy  enthusiast  presented, 
kneeling,  his  violin  to  him. 


236  Asbe'in. 

One  of  the  musical  ladies  present  sat 
down  to  the  piano  to  accompany  him  ;  the 
others  grouped  themselves  as  near  as  pos- 
sible round  him,  while  they  anxiously  tried 
to  express  by  their  positions  a  kind  of 
dying-away  charm.  He  felt  the  longing 
glances  of  their  eyes  resting  on  him  while 
he  played.  He  saw  the  beautiful  heads 
bent  forward.  It  went  to  his  head  like  a 
stunning  oppression ;  he  no  longer  knew 
himself.  But  they  no  longer  knew  them- 
selves. If  in  the  bearing  of  the  great  ladies 

who  frequented  his  house  in ,  in  spite 

of  all  their  enthusiasm  for  his  art,  there  had 
still  been  a  trace  of  patronage  with  refer- 
ence to  the  artist,  many  of  these  beauties 
now  fawned  upon  him  like  slaves  who 
would  sue  for  his  favor. 

When  he  had  finished,  no  one  of  them 
knew  by  what  special  insanity  she  should 
over-trump  the  others,  in  order  to  prove  to 
him  her  enthusiasm.  And  while  the  music- 
bewitched  women  crowded  around  him,  to 
beg  autographs  or  locks  of  hair  from  him, 


Asbein.  237 

and  carefully  picked  out  the  remains  of  his 
thrown-away  cigarettes  from  the  ash  re- 
ceiver, in  order  to  keep  them  as  relics,  the 
Jeliagin  told  some  new  guest,  in  an  adjoin- 
ing room,  the  "  romance  of  her  sister," 
which  she  always  concluded  with  the  words : 
"  My  poor  sister ;  so  courted  as  she  was ! 
You  know  that  she  refused  Prince  Truhetz- 
koi.  We  were  inconsolable  when  we  heard 
of  her  betrothal  with  Lensky.  He  is  really 
a  great  genius  !  "  And  then  she  sighed. 

But  Natalie  stood  on  the  terrace  which 
opened  out  of  the  music-room,  quite  alone. 
She  was  happy  if  she  could  remain  alone;  if 
no  one  came  up  to  her  to  ask  if  she  had  a 
headache,  or  if  anything  else  was  the  mat- 
ter. Was  anything  the  matter  with  her? 
No  one  could  feel  what  she  suffered,  and 
there  was  also  no  human  consolation  which 
she  would  not  have  felt  as  an  insult,  how- 
ever tenderly  it  was  offered  to  her. 

What  were  the  little  pin  pricks  which  had 

excited  her  impatience  in  to  this 

pain  ! 


238  Asbein. 

Around  her  was  the  summer  night,  sultry 
and  still.  The  black  shadows  of  the  trees 
stretched  themselves  in  the  moonlight  over 
the  gray-green  turf  on  which  not  a  single 
dew-drop  sparkled. 

Out  into  the  stillness  of  the  night  sounded 
a  loud,  harsh  laugh.  Natalie  looked  through 
one  of  the  flower-encircled  windows  into  the 
drawing-room.  There  sat  Lensky  in  a  cir- 
cle of  ladies. 

Heated  by  his  wearying  performance,  he 
wiped  the  perspiration  from  his  temples, 
from  his  neck.  He  was  relating  something 
that  Natalie  could  not  hear  distinctly,  but 
which  evidently  seemed  very  droll  to  him, 
and  which  convulsed  his  listeners ;  they 
exhibited  a  kind  of  comically  exaggerated 
irritation.  An  embarrassed  smile  appeared 
on  his  lips,  he  seized  the  hand  of  the  lady 
who  sat  nearest  to  him,  played  with  it 
appeasingly,  and  drew  it  to  his  lips.  This 
was  his  manner  of  making  his  apologies  if 
he  had  said  something  too  racy. 

Natalie  stepped  back  in  the  shadow.     A 


Asbe'in.  239 

desperation,  which  was  mingled  with  aver- 
sion, lay  hold  of  her.  Then,  hollow,  paining, 
quenching  all  the  pleasure  of  life,  quite  like 
a  physical  discomfort,  something  crept  over 
her  which  she  would  not  explain  to  herself, 
which  at  no  price  would  she  have  called  by 
its  name — jealousy. 

The  whole  mud  of  his  inner  nature  was 
stirred  up  as  a  stream  highly  swollen  and 
unsettled  after  a  wild  storm,  raving  and 
foaming,  tumbles  in  its  bed,  and  can  no 
longer  find  peace  and  rest  therein. 

From  time  to  time  he  invited  guests  from 
Paris ;  sometimes  they  came  uninvited. 
They  usually  remained  to  luncheon  only, 
but  Natalie  had  always  time  enough  to  be 
alarmed  at  them  and  to  wish  them  away. 
They  were  no  longer  artistic  celebrities 
like  those  whom  Natalie  had  charmed  to 
the  "  Hermitage "  the  year  before  ;  no, 
Lensky  had  reached  that  point  in  his  career 
when  an  artist  only  tolerates  courtiers  and 
court  fools  about  himself. 


240  Asbe'in. 

What  a  motley  rabble  that  sometimes 
was  which  assembled  around  him — artistic 
Bohemians,  freed  from  all  social  and  moral 
restraint  ! 

The  men  usually  remained  to  luncheon. 
Natalie  did  her  utmost  to  conceal  the  repul- 
sion which  the  bearing  and  manner  of  ex- 
pression of  the  throng  caused  her,  even 
from  her  husband.  But  sharp-sighted  as  he 
was  he  guessed  her  feelings. 

At  first  he  tried  to  spare  her ;  to  keep 
the  conversation  in  suitable  bounds  as  long 
as  she  was  present.  But  one  day  it  became 
too  tiresome  for  him.  Whether  the  wine 
had  gone  to  his  head,  or  whether  some 
secret  vexation  irritated  him,  in  any  case  he 
felt  the  need  of  breaking  his  conventional 
shackles.  Scarcely  had  he  given  the  sign 
for  excessive  freedom  of  speech,  when  the 
other  men  followed  his  lead.  They  laughed, 
jested  with  Natalie  and  about  her,  without 
the  slightest  consideration  for  her,  as  men 
heated  by  wine  do  when  they  are  together — 
Lensky  by  far  the  worst  among  them  all. 


Asbe'in.  241 

From  time  to  time  he  looked  at  Natalie 
challengingly  and  angrily.  Why  was  she  so 
prudish  ?  Why  was  she  so  affected  ?  It  was 
laughable  in  a  married  woman  of  her  age — 
was  nothing  but  foolishness  and  affectation. 

At  dessert  she  could  bear  it  no  longer ; 
she  left  the  table  and  locked  herself  in  her 
room. 

A  kind  of  illness  had  come  over  her ;  she 
was  near  a  swoon. 

How  painful  the  recollection  of  his  rough- 
ness was  to  him  later  she  knew  nothing 
of.  He  was  much  too  proud  to  let  it  be 
noticed.  On  the  contrary,  when  he  was 
with  her  again  he  acted  as  if  he  had  a  humor 
of  hers  to  pardon. 

From  that  time  Natalie  no  longer  appeared 
at  these  lunches.  But  in  the  distance  she 
heard  the  rattling  of  glasses,  the  laughter. 

She  stopped  her  ears  and  bit  her  teeth 
into  her  lips. 

With  all  this  he  became  daily  more  out  of 
temper  and  discontented. 

16 


242  Asbein. 

At  first  his  drawing-room  triumphs  in 
"  Les  Ormes  "  had  amused  him  ;  gradually 
he  lost  the  taste  for  them,  found  everything 
empty — childish.  His  position  in  the  midst 
of  this  exclusive  worldliness  vexed  him. 
While  the  women  threw  themselves  at  his 
head,  he  noticed  a  smile  on  the  lips  of  the 
men  which  offended  him.  If,  even  at  the 
beginning  of  his  career,  he  had  felt  quite 
b  son  aise  with  the  ladies  of  the  aris- 
tocracy, he  never,  on  the  contrary,  to  the 
end  of  his  life,  learned  to  live  in  har- 
mony with  the  men  of  that  rank.  Their 
treatment  of  him  always  remained  objec- 
tionable to  him.  True,  they  always  met 
him  with  the  greatest  politeness,  but  they 
never  treated  him  as  their  equal,  and  were 
always  a  trifle  too  polite  to  him.  If  he 
entered  the  smoking-room  while  they,  with 
hands  in  their  pockets  and  cigars  between 
their  teeth,  confidentially  talked  of  politics, 
race-horses  or  ladies,  the  conversation  im- 
mediately took  a  more  earnest  tone.  As 
soon  as  he  opened  his  mouth  the  others  all 


Asbe'in.  243 

listened  in  solemn  silence ;  then  one  of 
them  would  leave  the  group,  take  him  apart 
from  the  others,  and  try  to  talk  of  music 
with  him.  He  embarrassed  them  and  they 
embarrassed  him. 

Formerly,  he  had  taken  such  things  quite 
philosophically,  but  his  sensitiveness  had 
increased  in  recent  times.  In  the  long 
months  which  he  had  passed,  going  from 
city  to  city,  winning  triumphs  and  absolute, 
surrounded  only  by  artists  of  the  second 
and  third  class,  he  had  gradually  begun  to 
feel  himself  the  central  point  of  the  world. 
But  here,  in  spite  of  the  insane  homage  of 
the  ladies,  he  very  soon  saw  what  a  small 
role  he  really  played  on  the  world's  stage, 
although  he  could  give  pleasure  to  so  many 
by  his  art. 

He  could  still  tolerate  the  Russians,  but 
sometimes  strange  diplomats  came  to  the 
castle.  The  condescending  flattery  of  these 
gentlemen  was  unbearable  to  him.  What 
was  he  really  in  the  eyes  of  these  empty 
heads?  he  asked  himself;  an  acrobat  of  the 


244  Asbe'in. 

better  sort,  a  man  who  existed  merely  for 
their  accursed  amusement.  As  if  music 
were  not  the  most  beautiful  of  all  arts,  an 
art  ten  times  holier,  more  God-like  than  the 
political,  bungling  work  of  these  diplo- 
mats! "Art  is  the  most  enduring  in  the 
world.  I  am  the  only  immortal  among  you 
all ! "  he  said  to  himself.  But  then  came 
the  question  :  "  Yes ;  am  I  then  immortal  ? 
What  have  I  accomplished  up  to  this  time 
to  deserve  artistic  immortality  ?  " 

He  only  felt  really  happy  on  the  days 
when  all  the  men  were  occupied  in  hunting, 
and  he  and  a  handsome  Spanish  painter 
with  a  wooden  leg  were  the  only  men  in  a 
circle  of  ten  or  twelve  ladies,  although,  in 
his  heart,  the  unmanliness  of  his  position 
struck  him  bitterly  enough. 

The  most  charming  of  his  admirers  in 
"  Les  Ormes,"  the  one  who  had  decidedly 
taken  the  first  place  in  his  favor,  was  the 
Countess  Marinia  Lowenskiold.  As  already 
mentioned,  she  was  a  Pole,  and  married  to 


Asbein.  245 

a  northern  diplomat,  from  whom  she  lived 
separated,  &  taimable. 

Naturally,  she  was  an  idealist,  as  almost 
all  women  are  who  have  departed  from  the 
usual  course  in  life.  In  addition,  she  was 
very  musical.  What  was  most  piquant 
about  her  was  the  fact  that,  in  spite  of  the 
separation  from  her  husband,  whom,  besides, 
no  one  could  bear,  and  in  spite  of  her  peril- 
ous coquetries,  no  one  could  say  anything 
against  her  which  could  seriously  injure  her 
reputation. 

Perhaps  it  was  just  this,  her  former 
haughty  blamelessness,  which  attracted 
Lensky  to  her.  She  was  very  beautiful, 
she  pleased  him ;  and  then — why  did  they 
say  that  this  little  Pole  was  invincible?  He 
would  see ! 

Among  the  guests  in  the  castle  was 
Count  Leon  Pachotin.  Touchingly  faithful 
to  his  old  enthusiasm,  he  busied  himself  by 
singling  out  the  wife  of  the  virtuoso  on 
every  possible  occasion,  with  the  most  ex- 
aggerated homage  and  attentions.  He  was 


246  Asbe'in. 

still  a  very  handsome  man,  was  rich,  had 
changed  his  military  career,  as  is  quite  cus- 
tomary with  young  cavaliers,  for  that  of 
diplomacy,  in  all  appearances  bid  fair  to 
reach  the  highest  honors,  and — was  still  un- 
married. It  was  indescribably  bitter  to 
Natalie  to  play  the  humiliating  rdle  which 
had  fallen  to  her  in  life,  so  near  to  him. 
Sometimes  she  felt  his  kind  blue  eyes  rest- 
ing upon  her  in  sad  compassion.  Then  the 
proud  blood  boiled  within  her.  She  col- 
lected herself  in  order  that  nothing  might 
be  noticed,  and  was  again,  so  truly  the  charm- 
ing, seductive,  unapproachable  Natalie  As- 
sanow  of  former  days. 

On  a  sultry  evening,  toward  the  middle 
of  August,  the  company  in  the  castle  was 
unusually  brilliant  and  numerous.  The 
men  and  women  sat  in  groups  here  and 
there  in  an  immense  pavilion — in  which,  by 
means  of  screens  and  thickets  of  flowers, 
all  kinds  of  confidential  nooks  were  formed 
— talked,  laughed,  coquetted,  and  sipped 


Asbe'in.  247 

the  refreshments  which  tall  servants  with 
solemn  bearing  and  brilliant  liveries  pre- 
sented. 

Natalie  had  the  consciousness  this  even- 
ing of  looking  particularly  beautiful.  Pe- 
chotin  scarcely  left  her  side.  She  observed 
that  the  count's  manner  to  her  irritated 
Lensky,  that  he  looked  over  to  her  more 
than  once  uneasily,  and  she  was  glad  and 
doubled  her  lovability  to  Pachotin. 

Then  she  noticed  that  Boris  had  left  the 
pavilion.  With  instinctive  jealousy  her 
eyes  sought  Countess  Lowenskiold.  She 
also  was  missing.  Natalie's  blood  throbbed 
in  every  vein,  she  suddenly  found  Pacho- 
tin intrusive  and  awkward,  wished  to  do 
nothing  more  speedily  than  to  get  rid  of 
him. 

"  Please  see  if  you  can  get  me  an  ice, 
Count,"  she  remarked.  He  rose  obligingly. 
Scarcely  had  he  left  her  when  she  stepped 
out  from  the  pavilion  on  the  terrace. 

There  was  no  one  there,  but  out  in  the 
park,  not  very  far,  no  further  than  a  lady 


248  Asbetn. 

should  permit  herself  to  wander  in  the  gar- 
den on  a  beautiful  summer  night  in  the 
company  of  a  gentleman,  she  discovered 
two  figures — he  and  she.  A  quite  irresist- 
ible impulse  drove  her  to  follow  them,  to 
interrupt  their  conversation  in  some  man- 
ner. Already  she  had  taken  a  step  for- 
ward, then,  blushing  for  herself,  she  re- 
mained standing.  Had  it  already  gone  so 
far  with  her  that  she  should  show  herself 
capable  of  a  degrading,  pitiful  act !  She 
stood  as  if  rooted  to  the  ground.  The  pair 
in  the  park,  yonder,  also  remained  standing. 
She  saw  how  Lensky  stamped  his  foot,  and 
threw  back  his  brown  head.  She  knew 
this  despotic,  violent  movement.  Then  it 
seemed  to  her  that  she  heard  the  words: 
"  pas  de  sens  commun — enfantillages!"  Her 
heart  beat  violently,  she  turned  away  and 
reentered  the  room.  Soon  after,  Lensky 
joined  the  other  guests,  so  did  the  Countess 
Lowenskiold.  It  did  not  escape  Natalie 
that  the  latter  entered  the  room  by  another 
door  from  him.  The  Polish  woman  was 


Asbein.  249 

deathly  pale,  and  her  lips  burned  with 
fever.  In  Lensky's  manner,  on  the  con- 
trary, not  a  trace  of  excitement  betrayed 
itself;  he  was  even  more  lovable  than 
usual,  and  polite  to  all  the  ladies,  and 
without  being  specially  urged,  took  up 
his  violin. 

While  he  played,  he  turned  away  from 
the  Lowenskiold,  and  he  charmed  such 
tones  from  his  Amati  that  evening,  tones 
of  such  touching,  painful  sweetness,  that 
the  most  earnest  men  present,  with  the 
women,  bowed  before  his  art. 

While  he  played,  the  nervous  countess 
was  seized  with  a  fit  of  weeping,  and  left 
the  room. 

A  little  later,  Natalie  and  Lensky  walked 
home  together  through  the  park.  The  way 
which  they  took  was  enclosed  on  both  sides 
by  thick  bushes,  which  almost  met  over 
their  heads  in  a  transparent  arch.  The 
moonbeams  slid  through  the  branches,  and 
the  shadows  of  the  leaves  spread  themselves 
out  like  ghostly  lace-work  over  the  yel- 


250  Asbe'in. 

low  gravel.  An  oppressive  sultriness,  the 
breathless,  sticky  sultriness  of  the  old  heat 
of  the  day,  which  remained  hanging  in  the 
thicket,  made  breathing  difficult. 

Neither  of  them  spoke  a  word.  But 
while  she,  holding  her  head  very  high  in  the 
air,  looked  straight  before  her,  his  glance 
rested  ever  more  frequently  on  her.  In  ac- 
cordance with  the  custom  which  ruled  in 
the  castle,  she  wore  evening  dress,  and,  on 
account  of  the  heat,  had  let  the  white,  gold- 
embroidered  burnous  slip  down  a  little  from 
her  bare  shoulders.  The  moonlight  shone 
on  her  neck.  She  held  her  little  head  some- 
what averted.  In  vain  he  tried  to  look  in 
her  eyes ;  he  only  saw  the  outline  of  her 
cheek,  her  chin,  and  neck ;  but  how  charm- 
ing all  that  was  !  Never  before,  since  his 
return,  had  she  pleased  him  so.  It  really 
was  worth  the  pains  to  only  look  at  another 
woman  near  this  one.  Giving  way  to  a 
sudden  excitement,  mingled  with  remorse, 
he  drew  her  to  him  and  pressed  his  lips  to 
her  shoulder.  But  she  escaped  his  em- 


Asbe'in.  251 

brace,  not  without  a  certain  correcting 
roughness.  His  arms  fell  loosely  at  his 
sides,  but  he  could  not  remove  his  gaze 
from  her.  How  high  she  held  her  head, 
what  annihilating  arrogance  her  little  mouth 
expressed !  In  his  mind  he  saw  Pachotin 
bent  over  her  chair,  humbly  intent  on  the 
slightest  sign  of  her  favor. 

Who  knows  ?  perhaps  she  regrets,  thought 
he  to  himself,  and  a  furious  rage  gnawed  at 
his  heart. 

About  three  days  after  this  scene — three 
days,  during  which  Natalie  and  Lensky  had 
lived  together  in  mutual  wrath,  without 
speaking  a  word  to  each  other,  Lensky  told 
his  wife  he  must  to-day  go  to  Paris,  in 
order  to  arrange  with  Flaxland  the  publica- 
tion of  one  of  his  works  ;  at  the  same  time 
he  wished  to  make  use  of  the  opportunity 
to  see  and  hear  Gounod's  new  opera.  He 
could,  therefore,  only  come  home  the  next 
day  on  the  five  o'clock  train.  He  said  all 
that  in  a  very  grumbling  tone,  did  not  give 


252  Asbein. 

her  a  kiss  for  farewell,  and  immediately 
went  to  the  railroad. 

She  fancied  him  already  far  away,  when 
he  returned  again.  "  Have  you  forgotten 
anything?"  she  asked  him. 

"  Yes ;  namely,  I  would  like  to  know  if 
you  perhaps  have  anything  to  be  done  in 
Paris — and  then — if  you  wish,  you  can  come 
with  me;  we  will  go  to  the  opera  together. 
I  will  wait,  as  far  as  I  am  concerned,  for 
the  next  train,  so  that  there  will  be  time 
enough  for  you  to  make  ready." 

If  he  had  only  said  that  pleasantly, 
but  he  said  it  roughly,  disagreeably,  as  if 
it  did  not  concern  him  at  all.  He  had 
offended  Natalie  too  much  recently  for 
her  to  agree  with  his  first  attempt  at  recon- 
ciliation. 

"  I  thank  you  very  much,"  she  replied 
coldly  ;  "  you  will  amuse  yourself  much  bet- 
ter without  me." 

For  one  moment  he  hesitated  ;  then  he 
shrugged  his  shoulders  and  went. 

Scarcely  had  he  gone  when   Natalie  was 


Asbein.  253 

overcome  with  remorse  for  her  stubbornness 
and  obstinacy. 

Truly  it  was  unwise  and  hateful  not  to 
come  to  meet  him,  if  he,  proud  as  he  was, 
took  the  first  step.  She  could  have  cried 
from  anger  with  herself.  A  true  child,  as 
in  the  bottom  of  her  heart  she  still  was,  she 
could  not  cease  to  think  of  the  pleasure 
which  she  so  petulantly  had  renounced. 
How  charming  it  would  have  been  to  pass 
a  whole  day  alone  with  him  in  Paris.  To 
dine  in  the  Cafe  Anglais,  very  quickly  and 
quite  early,  so  as  not  to  miss  the  opera, 
but  still  very  excellently ;  she  even  made 
out  the  menu — ah  !  she  knew  all  his  favorite 
dishes  so  well ;  then  the  next  day  they 
would  have  bought  all  kinds  of  useless, 
pretty  things  together.  She  knew,  from 
former  years,  how  good-naturedly  and  pa- 
tiently he  would  let  himself  be  dragged  in 
the  great  bazaars.  She  would  have  bought 
Kolia  playthings  and  baby  an  embroidered 
dress — she  saw  the  little  dress  before  her — 
and  instead  of  all  that — ah,  how  vexatious ! 


254  Asbe'in. 

The  hours  dragged  slowly ;  she  scarcely 
put  her  foot  out  of  the  house.  She  also 
remained  at  home  in  the  evening ;  the  castle 
had  really  no  power  of  attraction  for  her. 
When  Kolia  took  the  place  opposite  her  at 
dinner,  and  unfolded  his  napkin  with  an  im- 
portant air,  he  remarked  :  "  See,  mamma, 
now  it  is  just  like  the  day  after  papa  had 
gone  away  to  America,  only  you  are  not  so 
sad,  because  you  know  that  he  is  coming 
back  soon." 

Natalie  smiled  at  the  child.  After  awhile 
Kolia  began  anew : 

"  Mamma,  shall  we  go  to  meet  papa  to- 
morrow ?  " 

She  nodded. 

Kolia  rested  his  little  head  thoughtfully 
on  his  hand. 

"  I  wonder  if  he  will  miss  the  train 
again  ?  "  said  he. 

In  accordance  with  a  loving  agreement, 
Natalie  had  formerly  been  the  only  one  who 
possessed  the  right  to  move  anything  in  Len- 


Asbein.  255 

sky's  sanctum,  and  to  remove  the  dust  from 
his  writing-table.  With  devoted  punctual- 
ity she  had  always  performed  this  task. 
Only  very  recently  had  she  been  untrue  to 
this  dear  custom.  But  this  time  he  should 
observe,  as  soon  as  he  returned,  that  she 
had  busied  herself  for  him  during  his  absence. 
She  was  in  an  optimistic  frame  of  mind. 
She  would  no  longer  be  angry  v/ith  him  be- 
cause he  of  late  had  caused  her  so  many 
bitter  hours.  He  himself  had  not  been 
happy.  He  was  not  yet  really  acclima- 
tized at  home.  She  had  known  that  she 
must  first  win  him  back  again  after  his 
long  absence.  Why  had  she  from  exagger- 
ated pride  so  soon  crossed  arms  ?  To  re- 
member the  low  expressions  which  he  some- 
times now  made  use  of,  and  especially  in 
company  with  the  motley  crowd  that  came 
over  to  him  from  Paris,  this  really  sent  the 
blood  to  her  cheeks — but  still  he  had  scarce- 
ly known  what  he  said.  She  had  needless- 
ly irritated  him  by  her  childish  prudery  ;  one 
must  take  these  great  natures,  always  in- 


256  Asbe'in. 

clined  to  exaggeration,  as  they  were,  and 
not  make  them  obstinate  by  quite  uselessly 
checking  and  restraining  them. 

Only  at  the  thought  of  the  Countess 
Lowenskiold  an  unpleasant  shudder  ran 
over  her.  And  suddenly  the  thought 
flashed  through  her :  "  What  does  he  real- 
ly wish  in  Paris  ?  "  But  almost  laughingly 
she  answered  herself :  "  As  if  he  could  wish 
anything  evil  when  he  asked  me  to  accom- 
pany him ! " 

After  she  had  carefully  and  daintily  set 
everything  to  rights  on  the  writing-table, 
she  went  down  in  the  garden  to  cut  for  it  the 
most  beautiful  roses  which  she  could  find. 

Softly  humming  one  of  the  songs  which 
he  had  dedicated  to  her  as  bride,  she  carried 
the  flowers,  tastefully  arranged  in  a  vase, 
into  his  room,  and  placed  them  on  his  writ- 
ing-table. There  she  discovered  in  a  brass 
ash  receiver  a  half-burned  paper  whicrT  had 
formerly  escaped  her.  She  looked  at  the 
paper  to  see  whether  she  might  throw  it 
away.  Her  heart  stood  still.  She  read  the 


Asbein.  257 

words  written  in  French :  "  O  thou  my 
creator,  my  redeemer — my  ruiner — broken 
— Paris."  The  rest  of  the  lines  were  burned. 

She  could  scarcely  stand.  From  whom 
were  these  lines?  was  not  that  the  writing 
of  Countess  Lowenskiold?  No,  no,  it  was 
not  possible — he  asked  me  to  accompany 
him.  Yes,  he  asked  me  to  accompany  him. 
She  repeated  it  ten  times,  a  hundred  times, 
in  order  to  shake  off  from  herself  the  convic- 
tion that  began  so  pitilessly  to  weigh  down 
upon  her.  She  could  not  believe  such  a 
thing,  she  would  not.  Countess  Lowenski- 
old had  certainly  not  left  "  Les  Ormes  "  ! 

But,  however  she  fights  with  her  distrust, 
she  cannot  overcome  it.  A  thousand  little 
particulars  occur  to  her. 

The  sun  shines  down  hot  and  full  from 
the  sapphire-blue  heaven.  Natalie  does 
not  trouble  herself  about  that ;  straight 
through  the  park  she  hurries,  without  para- 
sol, without  hat,  over  to  the  castle.  She 
will  inform  herself  with  as  little  risk  as  pos- 
sible. There  is  no  one  at  home  ;  the  ladies 
17 


258  Asbe'in. 

have  not  yet  returned  from  a  walk.  What 
a  shame  !  "  La  princesse  regrettera  beau- 
coup"  remarked  the  maitre  d' hotel,  who  had 
received  her  in  the  entrance-hall.  "  Perhaps 
madame  will  remain  to  lunch ;  they  will  lay 
a  place  for  madame." 

He  is  an  old  acquaintance,  a  servant 
whom  Natalie  has  known  for  years.  "  Oh, 
no ;  I  cannot  stay ;  I  only  wished  to  inquire 
after  the  health  of  the  Countess  Lowenski- 
old  ;  she  has  looked  so  miserable  of  late," 
murmured  she. 

"  Madame  la  Comtesse  Lowenskiold  ?  " 
says  the  man,  astonished.  "  Ah  !  she  is  no 
longer  here.  The  poor  countess  left  day 
before  yesterday  evening,  quite  unexpect- 
edly. It  occurred  to  me  that  she  looked 
very  badly.  Did  madame  also  notice  it?" 

What  she  stammered  in  answer  to  his 
question  she  does  not  know.  A  few  min- 
utes later  she  hurries  homeward  again 
through  the  park,  hatless,  parasolless.  The 
sun  still  beams  down  full  and  golden  upon 
the  earth  from  the  sapphire  sky.  She  does 


Asbe'in.  259 

not  feel  the  burning  of  the  sun,  and  does 
not  see  that  the  sky  is  blue.  For  her  the 
sun  is  dead  and  the  sky  black.  It  seems  to 
her  that  .  it  sinks  slowly  down  upon  her, 
heavy  and  breath-robbing,  like  a  sultry, 
bruising  weight. 

"  He  wished  to  take  me  with  him,"  she 
still  repeats,  as  if  the  words  held  consola- 
tion ;  "  yes,  he  wished  to  take  me  with 
him."  Then  she  remembers  the  embar- 
rassed, uneasy  expression  which  his  face 
wore  when  he  returned  at  the  last  minute 
to  ask  her  to  accompany  him.  Evidently 
he  had  had  a  fit  of  remorse. 

"  I  could  have  prevented  it,"  she  mur- 
mured, with  hollow  voice.  Then  she  shook 
in  her  whole  body  with  rage  and  horror. 

About  this  time,  gloomily  looking  before 
him,  Lensky  went  through  the  Rue  de  la 
Paix.  He  did  not  know  why  he  went  along 
this  street  rather  than  another.  It  was 
quite  indifferent  to  him  where  he  was ;  he 
only  wished  to  kill  time.  A  furious  anger 


260  Asbein. 

with  himself  shook  him ;  at  the  same  time 
disgust  tormented  him.  It  was  always  the 
same;  one  woman  was  just  like  the  others. 
The  only  one  who  was  different  was  his 
own  wife ;  and  he — well,  he  had  taken  the 
first  slight  opportunity  to  insult  her. 

He  came  by  the  hotel  in  which  he  had 
lived  with  her  the  former  year.  He  hast- 
ened his  steps.  From  a  jeweller's  shop  the 
most  wonderful  jewels  sparkled  at  him.  He 
entered.  He  would  take  something  to 
Natalie ;  would  give  her  a  little  pleasure. 
He  purchased  a  pretty  pin  set  with  emer- 
alds. She  had  a  preference  for  emeralds. 
Scarcely  had  he  left  the  shop  when  it 
seemed  to  him  that  the  little  case  in  his 
pocket  weighed  upon  him,  pulled  him  down 
to  the  ground.  How  had  he  dared  venture 
to  offer  her  a  gift  in  this  moment!  He 
took  the  little  case  and  threw  it  on  the 
ground — trod  on  it,  once,  twice,  raging,  be- 
side himself.  So  !  that  did  him  good.  He 
must  vent  his  wrath  in  some  way. 


Asbe'in.  261 

When  he  returned  home  about  five 
o'clock,  he  was  calmer.  What  had  happened 
could  not  be  changed,  it  was  now  only 
worth  while  not  to  ruin  the  future.  It  dis- 
quieted him  that  Natalie  did  not  meet  him, 
but  after  all,  he  was  not  very  astonished. 
She  still  felt  a  little  vexed  with  him.  He 
would  soon  make  an  end  of  that.  He 
asked  where  she  was.  "  In  her  room,"  they 
told  him.  But  what  was  that?  Every- 
thing was  upturned,  chests  stood  open,  on 
chairs  and  tables  lay  piles  of  linen,  clothes, 
as  before  a  departure.  He  did  not  yet 
understand,  but  still  he  noticed  that  she 
started  violently  at  his  entrance,  without 
looking  around  at  him. 

"What  are  you  doing,  Natalie?  Are  you 
preparing  for  departure  ?  "  asked  he. 

"  As  you  see,"  replied  she  shortly,  and 
continued  her  strange  occupation. 

"  It  is  a  good  idea,"  said  he.  "  I  already 
myself  wished  to  make  the  proposition  to 
you  to  move  away  from  here.  But  how 
did  you  really  come  to  think  of  it?" 


262  Asbem. 

Instead  of  any  answer,  she  merely 
shrugged  her  shoulders.  A  short  pause  fol- 
lowed. 

He  stepped  somewhat  nearer  to  her. 
"  Natalie,"  said  he,  earnestly,  warmly  and 
gently,  with  his  old,  dear  voice,  the  voice 
which  always  went  so  deep  to  her  heart, 
and  which  she  now  heard  again  for  the  first 
time  since  his  return  from  America,  "  Na- 
talie, do  you  not  think  that  we  would  do 
better  to  make  peace  with  each  other?" 

He  wished  to  put  his  arm  round  her,  but 
she  repulsed  him.  In  so  doing,  for  the  first 
time  she  turned  her  face  to  him.  With  hor- 
ror he  perceived  how  miserable  she  looked. 

Her  lips  were  pale,  her  features  sharp- 
ened like  a  dead  person's.  For  one  moment 
she  still  restrained  herself,  her  eyes  sought 
his.  An  unrest,  a  hope  fevered  in  her. 
"  Perhaps  I  have  in  vain  martyred  and  tor- 
mented myself,"  she  said  to  herself.  "  He 
certainly  could  not  speak  so  to  me,  if " 

With  trembling  hand  she  opened  a  little 
box,  and  took  out  the  half-singed  letter 


Asbe'in.  263 

which  she  had  not  been  able  to  overcome 
herself  from  carrying  about  with  her.  She 
handed  Lensky  the  letter. 

He  changed  color.  "  What  accident  has 
played  this  silly  note  into  your  hands?" 
he  burst  out. 

"  No  matter  about  that,"  she  replied 
dully,  and  with  that  she  tottered  so  that 
she  must  catch  hold  of  a  chair  so  as  not  to 
fall.  "  Were  you — in  company — with  the 
Lowenskiold — in  Paris — or — not?" 

Why  could  he  not  lie?  He  remained 
silent. 

Once  more  she  looked  at  him,  despair- 
ingly and  supplicatingly.  He  turned  away 
his  head. 

She  gave  a  gasping  cry,  pushed  back  the 
hair  from  her  temples  with  both  hands,  and 
sank  in  a  chair.  Then  she  pointed  with  her 
pale,  trembling  hand  to  the  door. 

Lensky  did  not  move. 

"  Go  !  "  said  she,  severely ;  and  her  hand 
no  longer  trembled,  and  her  gesture  was 
more  imperious,  more  proud. 


264  Asbein. 

Instead  of  obeying  her  command,  he  sank 
down  at  her  feet  and  covered  the  hem  of 
her  dress  with  kisses.  "  I  have  sinned 
against  you,"  he  said ;  "  yes,  but  if  you 
knew  how  furious  I  am  with  myself,  and 
how  little  my  heart  was  concerned  in  the 
affair,  you  would  pardon  me.  You  will  not 
certainly  be  jealous  of  something  that  is 
quite  beneath  one's  notice ;  one  does  not 
always  think  immediately  what  one  is 
doing."  He  shrugged  his  shoulders  impa- 
tiently. "  For  this  reason  you  are  still  the 
only  woman  in  the  world  for  me.  Really, 
my  angel,  it  is  not  worth  the  pains  that  you 
should  torment  yourself !  "  He  took  her 
hand  in  his. 

But  she  started  back  from  his  touch. 
"  Leave  me  !  "  said  she,  violently.  "  All  is 
at  an  end  between  us^go  !  " 

For  the  first  time  he  comprehended  the 
gravity  of  the  situation.  "  All  at  an  end — " 
he  murmured,  while  he  rose.  "  What  do 
you  mean?" 

"  That  I  will  no  longer  bear  to  be  under 


Asbein.  265 

the  same  roof  with  you  ;  that  I  will  go  back 
to  my  mother ;  that  I  insist  upon  a  separa- 
tion— that  is  what  I  mean.  Did  you,  then, 
expect  anything  different  ?" 

He  clutched  his  forehead.  "  A  separa- 
tion !  but  that  is  impossible ! "  he  gasped. 
"  A  separation — the  children  !  " 

She  started.  "  Yes — the  children  !  "  mur- 
mured she,  dully,  inconsolably  ;  "  the  chil- 
dren !  "  And  with  a  bitter  smile  she  looked 
down  on  her  preparations  for  the  journey, 
on  the  trunks,  the  effects  lying  about. 

Then  he  once  more  stepped  up  to  her. 
"  You  see  that  the  bond  between  us  can 
never  more  be  broken,"  said  he,  gently. 
"  You  cannot  go  !  " 

"  No  !  "  said  she  harshly.  "  No,  I  cannot 
go — not  even  that  consolation  remains  to 
me.  As  the  mother  of  your  children  I  must 
remain  under  your  roof.  But  in  everything 
else — between  me  and  you  all  is  at  an  end. 
Go!" 

He  went. 


266  Asbein. 

He  betook  himself  to  his  study.  Scarcely 
had  he  entered  here  when  a  peculiar  feeling  of 
mingled  emotion  and  anxiety  came  over  him. 
He  noticed  that  she  had  been  here,  noticed 
that  she  had  everywhere  removed  the  dust ; 
that  she  had  arranged  his  of  late  neglected 
writing-table,  and  how  understandingly, 
with  what  loving  consideration  of  all  his 
whims !  He  noticed  the  vase  with  fresh 
roses.  Evidently  she  had  busied  herself  for 
him  during  his  absence.  She  had  wished  to 
be  reconciled  to  him,  and  while  she  troubled 
herself  for  him  she  must  have  found  the 
note  somewhere  in  this  room.  "  It  is  all 
over,"  he  told  himself  ;  "  but  that  is  really 
not  possible.  It  is  jealousy  that  speaks 
from  her  ;  that  will  pass  away."  Jealousy  ! 
Yes,  if  it  had  really  only  been  jealousy,  but 
that  which  he  had  read  in  her  features  was 
something  else — almost  a  kind  of  loathing. 
What,  then,  had  he  done?  He  had  left  a 
distinguished  young  woman,  beautiful  as  a 
picture,  alone  for  eight  months,  and  when 
he  returned,  instead  of  recompensing  her 


Asbe'in.  267 

for  her  long,  sad  loneliness  by  loving  con- 
sideration, he  had  daily,  before  her  eyes, 
let  himself  be  raved  over  by  other  women, 
and  at  last 

"  She  despises  me,  and  she  is  right !  "  he 
murmured  to  himself.  "  If  she  had  borne 
this  also,  she  would  have  been  pitiable,  and 
I  must  have  despised  her  like  the  others — 
she,  my  proud,  splendid  Natalie!  " 

He  sat  at  his  writing-table,  and  rested  his 
head  in  his  hand. 

The  twilight  shadows  spread  over  the 
floor,  and  slid  down  from  the  ceiling,  and 
made  the  corners  of  the  room  invisible,  and 
obliterated  the  outlines  of  the  furniture. 
The  colors  died  ;  only  the  white  roses  shone 
in  a  ghostly  manner  in  the  half  light. 

Then  the  door  opened ;  the  servant  an- 
nounced that  dinner  was  served. 

It  seemed  strange  to  him  that  he  should 
go  to  the  table  to-day  as  any  other  day ;  it 
was  not  possible  for  him  to  eat  anything, 
but  he  was  ashamed  to  cause  talk  among 
the  servants,  and  so  he  went  into  the  din- 


268  Asbein. 

ing-room.  "  Will  she  be  there  ?  "  he  asked 
himself.  How  could  he  have  even  fancied 
such  a  thing?  Naturally  she  was  missing. 
Only  Kolia  was  there,  and  stood  expect- 
antly near  the  silver  soup  tureen,  which 
shone  on  the  table.  In  their  little  family 
circle,  Lensky  always  himself  served  the 
soup.  Kolia  had  raised  himself  on  tiptoes, 
and  with  one  slender  finger  had  pushed  the 
cover  of  the  dish  somewhat  to  one  side. 
He  stretched  his  little  nose  eagerly  forward, 
and  slowly  inhaled  the  rising  odor,  while 
with  a  deliciously  old,  wise  connoisseur  ex- 
pression he  drew  down  his  nostrils  and 
closed  his  eyes. 

"  I  see  already,  it  is  crab  soup — my  favor- 
ite soup,  papa ! "  he  remarked,  and  then 
with  agility  he  climbed  up  on  the  chair, 
which,  on  account  of  his  still  insufficient 
stature,  was  prepared  with  a  cushion  for 
him. 

It  was  certainly  only  a  quite  trivial  little 
affair,  and  yet  it  stabbed  Lensky  to  the 
heart. 


Asbetn.  269 

Potage  au  bisque  was  also  his  favorite 
soup.  He  stared  at  Natalie's  place,  which 
remained  vacant. 

A  great  embarrassment  mingled  with  his 
pain.  He  sent  the  servant,  busy  at  the 
side-board,  out  of  the  room  on  some  pre- 
text. 

"Mother  is  not  coming?"  he  turned  to 
the  boy,  who  had  already  begun  to  eat  his 
soup. 

"  No ;  mamma  has  a  headache.  Poor 
mamma!  " 

"  Do  you  wish  to  be  a  very  clever  boy, 
Kolia?" 

"  Yes,  papa !  " 

"Then  take  this  bowl  of  soup  to  your 
mother.  Do  not  spill  it ;  perhaps  mamma 
will  take  a  few  drops." 

With  an  important  face  Kolia  undertook 
his  errand.  Lensky  opened  the  door  of  the 
dining-room  for  him,  and  looked  after  him 
while  he  tripped  along  the  green-carpeted, 
dimly-lighted  corridor.  How  pretty  and 
pleasing  all  that  was !  The  lamps,  which 


270  Asbein. 

stood  out  from  old-fashioned  inlaid  plates 
of  polished  copper,  the  stags'  antlers  on 
the  brown  wainscoting.  And  he  had  not 
felt  happy  at  home  ! 

Then  Kolia  came  springing  back.  "  I 
left  the  soup  there,"  he  told  his  father,  who 
had  remained  listening  and  spying  in  the 
doorway,  "  but  mamma  did  not  wish  to 
eat  it." 

"  What  is  mamma  doing  ?  " 

"  She  is  holding  little  sister  on  her  lap." 

In  the  course  of  the  meal,  and  when  he 
noticed  that  his  father's  plate  continually 
remained  empty,  Kolia  also  lost  his  appe- 
tite. At  first,  in  the  most  caressing  tones, 
he  urged  his  father  to  eat. 

"  But,  papa,  don't  you  see,  you  must 
help  yourself  to  a  little  bit  ;  it  is  such  a 
good  dinner  to-day.  We  made  out  the  bill 
of  fare,  mamma  and  I,  early  this  morning  at 
breakfast,  and  I  remembered  all  your  favor- 
ite dishes  which  she  had  forgotten.  She 
was  so  gay  to-day,  before  she  had  a  head- 
ache, and  she  only  got  that  headache  be- 


Asbe'tn.  271 

cause  she  ran  through  the  park  to-day  with- 
out any  hat,  in  the  noon  sun.  But  eat 
something,  papa." 

Lensky  still  stared  at  Natalie's  empty 
place. 

All  at  once  he  noticed  an  unusual  com- 
motion in  the  house  ;  confused  talking  to- 
gether, quick  running  to  and  fro.  He 
sprang  up  and  went  out  in  the  corridor. 

There  he  saw  Natalie's  maid,  with  dis- 
turbed face,  and  anxious,  over-hasty  steps, 
coming  out  of  her  mistress'  room. 

"  What  is  the  matter ;  is  madame  more 
ill  ?  "  he  asked  in  sudden  fright. 

"  No,  monsieur,  but  the  little  girl  is  very 
ill ;  it  came  on  quite  suddenly.  Madame 
has  told  me  to  hurry  over  to  Chancy  for 
the  doctor." 

For  one  moment  he  stood  still  ;  then  he 
turned  to  the  sick-room — entered. 

It  was  no  contagious  illness.  Kolia  was 
not  sent  away  from  the  house  ;  only  they 
told  him  to  keep  very  quiet,  for  which  he' 


272  Asbein. 

was  ready  without  that,  for  the  weight 
which  oppressed  the  house  was  sufficient  to 
constrain  the  fresh  animation  of  his  elastic 
child-nature.  Quite  cautiously  he  only  oc- 
casionally crept  up  to  the  sick-room,  opened 
the  door,  whose  knob  he  could  scarcely 
reach  with  his  little  hand,  and  whispered : 
"  How  is  little  sister  now?  " 

Yes,  how  was  the  little  sister? 

It  was  an  inflammation  of  the  lungs 
which  had  attacked  the  little  one.  The 
physician  did  not  conceal  from  the  parents 
what  little  hope  there  was  of  recovery. 

Two  days,  three  nights  long,  they  both 
sat  together  near  the  cradle  in  which  the 
sick  little  girl  lay  ;  two  days,  three  nights, 
in  which  the  tiny  body  restlessly  threw 
itself  here  and  there  between  the  lace- 
trimmed  pillows,  while  the  breath,  inter- 
rupted by  fierce  and  tormenting  fits  of 
coughing,  with  difficulty  gaspingly  forced 
itself  out  from  the  little  breast.  Some- 
times Maschenka  cried  impatiently  and 
pulled  at  the  coverings  with  her  weak  little 


Asbetn.  273 

hands,  and  then  looked  at  her  parents  with 
that  hurt,  reproachful  look  with  which 
quite  little  children  desire  relief  from  their 
parents. 

Why  did  not  her  parents  help  her — why 
must  she  suffer  so? 

And  Natalie,  who  formerly  had  been  the 
tenderest  mother  in  the  whole  world,  took 
this  all  wearily,  almost  indifferently,  as  a  per- 
son whose  heart,  benumbed  by  a  great  de- 
spair, is  no  longer  susceptible  to  a  new  pain. 
She  scarcely  worried  herself  over  the  en- 
dangered little  life.  Yes!  Maschenka  would 
die,  she  told  herself,  the  dear,  charming 
Maschenka,  over  whom  she  had  always  so 
rejoiced.  She  still  heard  her  cooing  laugh- 
ter like  a  distant  echo  in  her  remembrance. 
Yes,  Maschenka  would  die !  Why  should 
she  not  die?  It  wa's  really  better  for  her 
than  to  grow  up  to  feel  such  grief  in  the 
future  as  had  burned  and  parched  her 
mother's  heart.  Yes,  she  would  die,  and 
then  Natalie  would  lay  her  head  down  on 

the  little  pillow,  near  the  pale  face  of  the 

18 


274  Asbein. 

child,  and  fall  asleep  forever — rest — forget ! 
When  Maschenka  was  dead,  Natalie  had  no 
more  duties!  —  Kolia? — Oh,  Kolia  would 
make  his  way  in  the  world. 

But  Maschenka  did  not  wish  to  die  :  this 
world  pleased  her  too  well,  she  did  not 
wish  to. 

The  fever  became  higher;  ever  more  im- 
patiently the  child  threw  herself  about  in 
the  cradle.  On  the  evening  of  the  third 
day  the  doctor,  a  skilful,  wise,  conscien- 
tious family  physician,  whom  Natalie  had 
frequently  consulted  for  any  little  illness  of 
the  children,  and  who,  under  the  direction 
of  a  Parisian  specialist,  fought  with  death 
for  Maschenka's  little  life, — on  the  evening 
of  the  third  day  he  said  that  probably  the 
crisis  would  occur  in  the  night ;  he  would 
come  again  at  six  o'clock  in  the  morning 
and  look  after  it.  He  said  that  very  sadly. 
Lensky  accompanied  him  out.  When  he 
came  back  in  the  sick-room,  the  expression 
of  his  face  was  still  sadder  than  before. 

The  little  one  became  still  more  restless 


Asbein.  275 

— she  would  not  stay  in  her  cradle.  Inces- 
santly she  raised  herself  from  the  pillows, 
cried  pitifully,  and  stretched  out  her  little 
arms.  Natalie  took  the  little  patient,  warm- 
ly wrapped  in  coverings,  on  her  lap,  but  the 
little  one  would  not  stay  there  either.  She 
felt  that  her  mother  was  not  just  the  same 
to  her  as  formerly.  Quite  angrily  she 
turned  away  from  her,  and  stretched  out 
her  little  hands  to  her  father.  Lensky 
took  her  in  his  arms,  wrapped  the  covering 
still  closer  round  her  tiny  limbs,  and  with  a 
thousand  tender  words,  cpaxed  her  to  rest. 
With  what  evident  pleasure  the  little  body 
leaned  against  his  breast ! 

Natalie's  eyes  rested  on  him.  It  had 
been  just  the  same  for  two  days.  He  had 
cared  for  the  child,  not  she.  Only  she  now, 
for  the  first  time,  tdok  account  of  it.  'How 
tenderly  he  held  the  child  !  what  touchingly 
poetic  words  of  love  he  whispered  to  it ! 
Expressions,  such  as  one  finds  only  in  those 
songs  in  which  the  people  complain  of  their 
pain  !  Just  such  words  had  he  formerly 


276  Asbe'in. 

found  for  her — at  that  time — in  those  old 
days,  when  he  still  loved  her — and  a  stream 
of  new,  animating  warmth  crept  through 
her  benumbed  heart. 

She  still  watched  him.  Her  eyelids  be- 
came heavy. 

Suddenly  she  started  up,  looked  confus- 
edly about  her ;  she  had  been  fast  asleep. 
What  had  happened  meanwhile?  The 
morning  light  already  streamed  into  the 
room  ;  without  the  rain  rattled  against  the 
window  panes.  When  had  it  begun  to  rain 
then?  Where  was  Lensky?  He  stood 
near  the  window  and  gazed  out.  How 
sad  he  looked,  how  pale  ! 

The  child! — and  with  a.  feeling  of  im- 
measurably painful  anxiety  her  heart  now 
fully  awoke  to  new  life.  She  had  not  the 
courage  to  look  in  the  cradle.  Then  Len- 
sky turned  to  her.  "  The  child  !  "  mur- 
mured she. 

He  laid  his  finger  on  his  mouth.  "  She 
sleeps — "  Then  listening:  "The  doctor 
comes." 


Asbein.  277 

The  physician  entered.  He  bent  over 
the  cradle ;  the  little  patient  slept  calmly 
and  sweetly,  her  little  fist  against  her  cheek. 
Her  little  face  was  very  pale  and  sadly 
lengthened,  but  her  brow  was  moist  and  a 
peaceful  expression  was  on  her  tiny  mouth. 

"  She  is  better,"  said  the  doctor,  aston- 
ished and  pleased.  He  scarcely  understood 
it.  "  The  fever  is  gone,  the  crisis  is  past, 
and  if  there  are  no  quite  unusual  circum- 
stances, the  danger  is  over.  A  couple  of 
spoonfuls  of  strong  broth  when  she  wakes, 
and  no  more  medicine.  Adieu,  &  tantdt  /" 
and  he  left  the  room. 

The  door  had  closed  behind  him,  his  steps 
resounded  in  the  corridor.  Natalie  rose ; 
she  did  not  know  what  she  wished ;  to  look 
at  the  child,  to  fall  on  her  knees,  to  pray ! 
Then  her  eyes  met  Lensky's.  She  started, 
stretched  out  her  arms  as  if  to  repel  a  sud- 
denly awakened  pain — a  swoon  overcame 
her — she  sank  down.  He  took  her  in  his 
arms,  carried  her  into  the  adjoining  room, 
and  stretched  her  out  on  a  couch.  He 


278  Asbein. 

opened  the  window  and  let  the  spicy,  rain- 
cooled  morning  air  stream  in.  Then  he  wet 
the  temples  of  the  unconscious  woman  with 
cologne  and  loosened  her  dress.  At  that 
her  only  carelessly  fastened-up  hair  loosed 
itself  and  slid  down  in  all  its  dark  abun- 
dance over  her  shoulders. 

How  wonderfully  charming  she  looked  in 
her  pale,  melancholy  loveliness !  Involun- 
tarily he  approached  his  lips  to  her  temples ; 
then  she  opened  her  eyes  ;  a  shudder  shook 
her  frame  and  she  turned  her  face  away 
from  him. 

It  went  through  him  from  the  top  of  his 
head  to  the  sole  of  his  foot.  He  had  for- 
gotten, but  now  he  remembered  accurately. 
How  dared  he  approach  this  woman  so  con- 
fidentially ! — she  was  no  longer  his  wife. 
She  had  only  tolerated  him  near  her  as 
long  as  the  child  lay  sick,  really  only  toler- 
ated !  With  fearful  bitterness  he  remem- 
bered how  she  had  held  herself  far  from 
him,  even  near  Maschenka's  bed  of  pain. 
And  now,  when  the  little  one  was  well — 


Asbein.  279 

why  let  himself  be  shown  the  door  a  second 
time? 

"  You  need  not  be  afraid,  Natalie,  I  am 
going  ;  I  had  only  forgotten — pardon  !  " 
With  that  he  could  not  deny  himself  to  take 
her  hand ;  he  believed  she  would  draw  away 
her  hand  from  him  ;  no,  she  let  it  lie  quite 
passively  in  his.  Now  he  wished  to  free  it, 
but  then,  quite  softly,  but  ever  firmer,  her 
fingers  closed  round  his.  She  herself  held 
him  back.  Rejoicing  and  sobbing  he  drew 
her  to  his  breast. 

Scarcely  a  moment  later  he  felt  in  his  in- 
most heart  quite  strangely,  uncomprehend- 
ingly,  a  cold  gnawing  vexation. 

He  did  not  understand  that  she  could 
pardon  so  easily.  He  had  not  expected 
that  of  her. 


FOURTH    BOOK. 

NATALIE  ! — Owing  to  business  affairs  which 
will  claim  me  still  longer,  it  will  be  impossible  for 
me  to  come  to  Trouville  before  the  beginning  of  Sep- 
tember. I  am  very  sorry,  but  I  hope  and  wish  that 
you  will  not,  on  this  account,  put  off  your  journey  to 
the  sea-shore ;  you  know  how  you  need  the  stay  in 
the  bracing  air.  I  have  engaged  a  residence  for  you 
through  Madame  cle  C.,  and  also  had  everything 
arranged  for  your  comfortable  reception — a  low 
chalet  with  a  look-out  over  the  sea.  I  know  how  you 
love  it, — the  poor  wild  sea,  that  cannot  help  it  if  it 
sometimes  crushes  a  ship,  and  that  finds  no  rest  from 
despair  over  the  evil  which  it  does  and  cannot 
prevent. 

You  must  not  take  any  sea-baths  ;  Dr.  H.  suitably 
impressed  that  upon  me  in  the  spring.  But  in  any 
case,  wait  until  I  come. 

From  my  great,  clever  boy  I  often  receive  long, 
pretty,  regularly  written  letters  which  please  me 
very  much.  I  will  show  them  to  you  when  we  are 


Asbe'in.  281 

together  again.  The  boy  is  romantic,  through  and 
through,  which  touches  me  in  these  our  present 
times,  and  also  a  little  of  a  pedant,  which  makes  me 
impatient,  but  still,  he  is  a  dear,  splendid  fellow,  and 
that  you  must  tell  him  from  me. 

The  little  note,  which  I  recently  received  from 
Maschenka,  was  laughably  comic,  and  sweet  enough 
to  eat.  The  little  witch  wrote  me  quite  secretly, 
without  telling  you  anything  about  it.  She  confessed 
all  her  naughtinesses  to  me  very  remorsefully  and 
over  hurriedly,  from  anxiety  that  you  might  write 
something  about  them  to  me.  Is  she  really  so 
naughty,  and  passionate,  and  wild  ?  She  is  still 
charming  in  spite  of  all,  so  thoroughly  good-hearted 
and  tender  and  generous,  and  withal  so  incredibly 
gifted.  I  tell  you  her  little  note — it  was  adorned 
with  three  ink  spots,  and  I  could  not  read  a  word  of 
the  writing — but  still  it  was  a  little  poem. 

And  how  she  loves  you  !  Just  as  she  is,  I  find 
her  charming  enough  to  make  one  lose  one's  head 
over  her ;  and  I  am  very  sorry  that  one  must  cure 
her  of  her  amusing  little  faults  ;  they  are  so  becom- 
ing to  her.  'That  you  must  naturally  not  tell  her 
from  me,  but  give  her  a  very  warm  kiss  from  me  on 
her  full,  defiant  lips,  of  which  you  always  assert  that 
they  are  like  mine.  Do  not  vex  yourself  too  much 
over  it,  —  rejoice  in  our  little  gypsy  as  she  is. 


282  Asbe'tn. 

And  if  you  again  worry  over  her  inherited  good-for- 
nothingness,  then  look  in  her  wonderfully  beautiful, 
large  eyes,  which  she  did  not  inherit  from  me.  You 
will  find  your  soul  in  them— let  that  be  your  conso- 
lation. Farewell,  my  angel,  spare  yourself  really — 
really  !  Only  do  not  think  of  saving  at  all  on  the 
journey.  You  know  that  I  cannot  bear  that.  Think 
only  of  your  comfort  and  of  what  a  joy  it  would  be 
to  me  if,  at  our  next  meeting,  I  should  find  your 
poor  thin  cheeks  somewhat  rounder  than  when  I 
left  you. 

Your  boundlessly  devoted 

BORIS. 

It  is  in  Berlin,  in  the  Hotel  du  Nord, 
nine  years  after  the  first  violent  quarrel, 
the  first  passionate  reconciliation  with  her 
husband,  that  Natalie  receives  this  letter. 

She  had  left  St.  Petersburg  a  few  days 
before,  in  order,  as  by  agreement,  to  meet 
Lensky,  whom  she  has  not  seen  since  the 
beginning  of  March,  in  the  German  capital. 
It  had  been  a  great  disappointment  for  her 
that  she  had  not  found  Boris  in  Berlin,  but 
he  has  accustomed  her  to  disappointments. 

She  reads  the  letter  once  more.     It   is  a 


Asbein.  283 

dear,  good  letter.  Ah  !  Natalie  has  received 
such  dear,  good,  tender  letters  from  all 
the  large  cities  in  Europe  and  America — 
and  knows — 

Not  that  Boris  is  deceiving  her  when  he 
writes  to  her  in  this  tender  tone.  No,  every 
trace  of  falseness  is  strange  to  him,  his 
attachment  to  her,  his  anxiety  about  her, 
are  sincere — but — 

What  use  to  grieve  over  it  ?  These  great 
geniuses  are  never  different.  One  must  not 
judge  them  like  other  men  !  With  this 
shallow  commonplace,  with  which  she  has 
so  often  put  to  sleep  her  inconsolable  heart 
if  it  sometimes  wishes  violently  to  rise  up 
against  its  oppressive,  ignominious  lot,  she 
compels  it  to  rest  again  to-day.  It  is  easier 
now  than  formerly ;  her  poor  heart  has 
already  accustomed  itself  to  grievances. 

Nine  years  have  passed  since  that  time  in 
the  pretty,  cosey  Hermitage  when  she — 
forgave  him  too  easily,  and  thereby  lost  her 
power  over  him  forever.  She  has  known  it 
a  long  time.  Late  in  that  following  autumn 


284  Asbein. 

a  great  symphony  by  him  was  given  in  the 
"  Gewandhaus,"  in  Leipzig.  The  wprk  was 
beautiful,  the  success  moderate,  Lensky's 
discouragement  exaggerated,  quite  morbid. 
A  few  months  later  he  took  up  his  wander- 
er's staff  anew,  and  left  Petersburg,  where 
he  had  returned  with  his  family,  in  order  to 
distract  himself  by  the  most  exaggerated 
virtuoso  triumphs  from  the  humiliation 
which  had  befallen  the  composer.  Oftener, 
ever  oftener,  he  had  then  left  wife  and  chil- 
dren, and  now,  in  his  own  house,  he  had 
long  been  only  an  indulged,  distinguished 
guest. 

But  in  the  time  which  he  every  year 
devoted  to  his  wife,  to  his  family,  he  behaved 
in  an  exemplary  fashion.  He  did  every- 
thing that  lay  in  his  power  to  make  life 
bearable  to  Natalie — everything  except  to 
lay  a  restraint  upon  himself  ;  that  he  simply 
could  not,  and  for  that  reason  he  must 
leave  home  so  often  in  order  to  vent  his 
passion. 

Natalie's  nature  was  broken.     An  unex- 


Asbein,  285 

pressed,  numbing,  blunting  conviction  that 
this  was  the  natural  course  of  things,  and 
that  nothing  of  all  this  could  be  changed, 
had  overpowered  her.  As  to  what  might 
take  place  while  he  was  away  from  her,  of 
that  she  did  not  permit  herself  to  think. 

With  his  art  matters  had  long  gone  down- 
ward, even  more  rapidly  than  Natalie — who 
already  after  his  return  from  America  had 
been  startled  by  the  exaggerations  to  which 
he  had  accustomed  himself  in  his  playing — 
had  deemed  possible.  At  that  time  he  had 
given  the  reins  to  his  temperament  with  assi- 
duity in  order  to  dazzle  the  public.  Now — 
now,  he  had  long  lost  power  over  himself. 
And  concerning  his  compositions  !  A  fear- 
ful pain  contracted  Natalie's  heart  if  she 
thought  how  she  had  formerly,  in  her  ten- 
der enthusiasm,  called  him  the  last  musi- 
cal poet,  in  opposition  to  the  other  great 
composers  of  modern  times,  whom  at  that 
time  she  had  described  as — musical  bung- 
lers. She  could  no  longer  remember  the 
speech  without  blushing. 


286  Asbem. 

The  bunglers  had  all  grown  above  his 
head.  One  scarcely  spoke  of  his  compo- 
sitions now,  and  the  worst  of  it  was — 
Natalie  herself  no  longer  cared  to  hear 
them. 

Where  was  the  sweet,  sunny,  charming 
element  of  his  first  little  works  ?  Where 
the  fiery  earnestness,  the  penetrating,  noble 
sound  of  pain  in  his  later  works  ? 

Sleepy  monotony,  noisy  emptiness  were 
now  the  characteristics  of  his  musical  crea- 
tions. Certainly,  here  and  there  appeared 
melodies  of  wonderful  beauty  ;  but  who  had 
the  patience  to  seek  out  the  lovely  oases  in 
this  sterile  musical  wilderness? 

Once,  Natalie  had  hesitatingly  made  a 
remark  to  him  about  a  new  composition. 
But  he,  who  had  formerly  showed  himself  of 
such  unimpeachable  gentleness  toward  her, 
had  flown  into  a  passion,  and  had  even  for 
many  days  remained  irritable.  Since  that 
time  she  said  nothing  more,  but  let  him 
have  his  way,  as  she  let  him  have  his  way  in 
everything,  only  that  she  might  not  break 


Asbetn.  287 

the  last  thin  thread  which  still  held  them 
together. 

She  had  read  the  letter  a  third  time. 
"  Business  affairs  detain  him,"  she  mur- 
mured to  herself.  "  Business  affairs  !  He 
writes  from  Leipzig ;  why  does  he  not  ask 
me  to  come  to  him  ? "  She  shrugged  her 
shoulders — what  good  to  think  of  it? 

Suddenly  her  cheeks  burned,  her  breath 
came  short.  She  pours  out  a  glass  of  water, 
throws  a  couple  of  bits  of  ice  from  a  por- 
celain bowl  in  it,  and  drinks  thirstily. 
"  Such  great  geniuses  are  never  different," 
she  says  to  herself  again.  She  begins  to 
walk  up  and  down  in  the  room  uneasily. 
At  last  she  goes  to  the  window  and  looks 
out. 

A  great  weariness  lay  over  everything. 
The  lindens  slept,  wrapped  in  white  dust ; 
the  stony  heroes  at  their  feet  looked  morose 
and  weary,  as  if  they  were  satiated  with 
letting  themselves  parch  on  their  pedestals. 
They  throw  pitch-black  shadows  over  the 


288  Asbetn. 

sun-burned  road.  A  black  poodle  lies  at 
the  foot  of  one  of  the  memorials,  on  its 
back,  and  does  its  utmost  to  pull  off  the 
muzzle  on  its  nose.  The  people  are  weary 
and  pale,  and  crowd  into  the  shadow  wher- 
ever they  can.  Everything  flees  the  sun. 
No  one  remembers  another  such  hot,  dry, 
oppressive  summer.  And  suddenly  a 
strange  longing  for  shade  comes  over 
Natalie  ;  for  gome  deep,  cool,  shady  place 
in  which  she  can  rest. 

The  hollow,  oppressive  feeling  about  her 
heart  has  become  more  significant,  has 
taken,  at  length,  the  form  of  a  piercing 
physical  pain.  She  lays  her  hand  on  her 
breast ;  the  physicians  have  told  her  that 
she  should  spare  herself,  should  guard 
against  every  vehement  sensation,  because 
her  heart  is  affected.  Suddenly  she  breaks 
out  in  convulsive  sobbing.  Spare  herself ! 
Is  it  worth  the  trouble  to  spare  one's  self ; 
to  exert  one's  self  for  the  preservation  of 
this  poor  life  ;  is  it  worth  the  trouble  to 
bend  down  again  and  again  in  the  mire  for 


Asbein.  289 

the    poor   little    bit    of    happiness    that    is 
thrown  to  one  as  an  alms  ? 

Then  the  door  opens  ;  a  charming  little 
girl  of  about  ten  years,  large-eyed,  gay,  with 
wonderful  curly  hair  hanging  far  down  her 
back,  with  very  long  black  stockings  and 
very  short  white  dress,  hops  in — Maschenka, 
who  had  been  to  walk  with  the  maid.  The 
first  thing  which  she  discovers  when  she 
has  scarcely  greeted  her  mother  and  given 
her  a  somewhat  breathless  and  hurried  ac- 
count of  the  various  impressions  she  has 
formed  on  her  walk,  is  Lensky's '  letter, 
which  has  remained  lying  on  the  table. 
"  Oh,  from  papa  !  "  says  she.  "  When  is 
he  coming ;  to-morrow  ? "  and  her  eyes 
shine. 

"  He  is  not  coming ;  we  are  going  to 
Trouville  without  him,"  replies  Natalie, 
wearily. 

"  Without  him,"  repeats  Maschenka  ;  her 
sweet,  large-eyed  cherub's  face    lengthens. 
"  Oh  !  " — looking  at    Natalie    attentively — 
"  Did  you  cry  over  that,  mamma?  " 
19 


290  Asbe'in. 

Natalie  says  nothing,  only  turns  her  head 
away  with  a  gesture  of  displeasure. 

"He  is  coming  after  us?"  asks  Ma- 
schenka,  embarrassed. 

"  He  promises  to,"  replies  Natalie,  with 
difficultly  restrained  bitterness. 

"  Poor  mamma  ! "  and  Maschenka  ten- 
derly kisses  the  tears  away  from  her 
mother's  cheek.  "  You  must  not  cry,  it  is 
not  good  for  you.  You  know  papa  cannot 
bear  to  see  you  cry." 

It  is  quite  inexplicable  how  nature  has 
been  able  to  bestow  upon  this  tender,  child- 
ish, velvet-cheeked  little  being  such  a  strik- 
ing likeness  to  the  face  stamped  by  time, 
weather,  and  life  of  the  virtuoso.  The 
troubled,  strangely  deep  look  with  which 
Maschenka  regards  her  mother ;  the  tender 
and  still  defiant  expression  of  her  full  lips  ; 
the  manner  of  drawing  together  her  delicate 
brows,  all  that  reminds  one  of  her  father. 
But  that  in  which  her  likeness  to  him  is 
most  strikingly  announced,  is  the  bewitch- 
ing heartiness  of  her  manner,  the  flattering 
insinuation  of  her  caresses. 


Asbein.  291 

Natalie  observes  her  with  quite  fixed  at- 
tention, then  draws  her  to  her  and  kisses 
her  passionately  on  both  eyes. 

Meanwhile  there  is  a  knock  at  the  door. 
It  is  a  waiter,  who  brings  a  telegram  from 
Petersburg.  Natalie  starts,  her  thoughts 
fly  to  her  son  whom  she  has  left  behind 
them.  But  no — the  telegram  has  nothing 
to  do  with  Kolia.  It  is  really  not  from 
Petersburg,  but  has  only  sought  her  there, 
and  has  been  sent  after  her  to  Berlin.  She 
reads : 

DRESDEN,  H6xEL  BELLEVUE,  August  4th. 
Can  you  not  take  the  roundabout  way  through 
Dresden  ?     We  would  be  very  glad  to  see  you. 

SERGEI. 

Why  should  she  not  take  the  roundabout 
way  through  Dresden  ?  Why  should  she 
hasten  to  reach  Trouville,  the  full,  empty 
Trouville,  where  no  one  will  be  glad  to  see 
her? 

Shortly  after  his  reconciliation  with  his 
sister,  Sergei  had  left  St.  Petersburg,  in 


292  A  she  in. 

order  to   follow  his  brilliant  but  exacting 
diplomatic  wandering  career  from  one  im- 
portant but   remote  post  to  another,   and 
now   he    had   at   length    been    recalled    to 
Petersburg,  to   fill  a  high  position  at  home. 
Natalie  cherished  the  conviction    that    he 
suspected   nothing  of  the  slow  crumbling 
together  of  her  happiness.     How  should  he  ! 
Before  him,  more  than  before  all  the  others, 
she  had  concealed  her  great   inconsolable- 
ness.     In  the  long  letter  which,  by  agree- 
ment, she  wrote  him  every  month,  she  had 
always  forced  herself  to  take  as  gay  as  pos- 
sible a  tone,  and  even    if   she    was   accus- 
tomed, in  the  description  of  her  "  domestic 
happiness "  to  dwell  at  especial   length  on 
the   lovability   and    happy   dispositions   of 
both   of   her    children,   she    yet    had  never 
failed    to    mention    the    goodness  of    their 
father  and  his   unwearied  consideration  for 
her.  "  How  he  would  triumph  if  he  knew  !  " 
she  said  to  herself,  on  the  platform  in  Dres- 
den, while  she  uneasily  looked  round  for 
her   brother,   whom   she   had   informed    by 


Asbe'tn.  293 

telegram  of  the  hour  of  her  arrival.     "  If  he 

knew  anything  of  it !  "  she  said  to  herself, 

and  at  the  mere  thought,  it   seemed  to  her 

that  she  would  flee  to  the  end  of  the  world, 

rather  than  bear  the  cold  scrutinizing  glance 

of  his  eye.     Then  a  very  slender  man  in 

blameless  English  clothes  came  up  to  her, 

looked  at   her  a  moment   uncertainly,  put 

up  his    eye-glass — "  Natalie  !     it    is    really 

you  !  "  and  evidently  truly  pleased  to  see 

her  again   he  draws  her  hand  to  his  lips. 

And  now  she  is  also  glad  to  see  him,  is  pleased 

to  be  with  her  brother,  as  she  has  never  yet 

been  glad  since  her  betrothal  to   Lensky. 

He  has  changed  very  much  since  that  time 

in   Rome  when   he  had  vainly  sought    to 

destroy  Natalie's  illusions;   but,  as  with  all 

really  distinguished  men,  growing  old  was 

becoming  to    him.     If  his  bearing   is  still 

proud,  it   has  yet   lost    much   of  its  harsh, 

nervous,  immature  arrogance   of  that  time. 

His  fine  features  are   still   sharper,  but  his 

glance  has  become  softer,  more  benevolent. 

"  That  is  your  little  girl  ?  "  says  he,  bend- 


294  Asbc'in. 

ing  down  to  Maschenka,  pleasantly.  "  May 
one  ask  a  kiss  of  such  a  large  young  lady?" 

The  gay  Maschenka,  always  bent  upon 
the  conquest  of  all  hearts,  hops  up  to  him 
with  hearty  readiness,  and  throws  both  her 
little  arms  round  his  neck.  "  Elle  est  char- 
mante ! "  whispers  Sergei  in  a  somewhat 
patronizing  tone  to  Natalie. 

"  We  find  her  very  like  the  Maria  ^Egyp- 
tica  of  Ribera — your  favorite  picture  in  the 
Dresden  Gallery.  Do  you  not  remember 
it?" 

"Indeed!"  The  prince  bends  down  a 
second  time,  wonderingly,  to  Maschenka. 
Suddenly  his  face  takes  on  a  discontented 
expression.  "  She  chiefly  resembles  Len- 
sky ;  I  do  not  understand  how  that  could 
escape  me ! "  says  he,  and  his  tone  ex- 
presses decided  displeasure. 

"And  still  if  he  knew!  "  thinks  Natalie. 

"  Kolia  looks  like  you,"  says  she,  hastily. 

"  They  have  often  written  me  that,"  says 
the  prince.  "  Besides,  they  tell  me  only 
good  things  of  him ;  I  shall  be  glad  to  see  a 


Asbe'in.  295 

• 

great  deal  of  him  in  Petersburg.  And  now 
come,  Natalie.  I  wished  to  have  rooms  in 
Bellevue  for  you,  but  there  were  none  to  be 
had ;  not  a  mouse  hole ;  all  engaged.  We 
ourselves  live  at  the  extreme  end  of  a  cor- 
ridor. So  I  have  taken  a  little  apartment 
for  you  in  the  Hotel  du  Saxe.  It  is  a  plain 
house,  but  the  nearest  one  to  us,  and  you 
will  not  be  there  much.  Send  your  maid 
ahead  with  the  luggage.  I  hope  you  will 
now  come  direct  to  our  rooms  with  me,  you 
and  the  little  one ;  my  wife  awaits  you  at 
dinner." 

And  now  Natalie  has  been  in  Dresden 
since  many  hours.  The  joy  of  the  meeting 
with  her  brother  has  fled,  a  great  depression 
benumbs  her  whole  being.  What  a  home  ! 
Sergei's  wife,  born  a  Countess  Brok,  who  is 
two  years  older  than  he,  and  whom  he  has 
married  on  account  of  the  influential  posi- 
tion of  her  father,  suffers  with  rheumatism, 
on  which  account  she  fears  a  little  bit  of  too 
warm  sunshine  as  well  as  a  slight  draught. 


296  Asbein. 

• 

The  meal  is  taken  in  the  drawing-room  of 
the  married  pair,  instead  of  down  on  the 
gay,  sunny  terrace,  as  Sergei  had  ordered. 
After  the  princess  has  welcomed  Natalie, 
and  has  said  something  in  praise  of  Ma- 
schenka's  beautiful  hair,  her  remarks  con- 
sist in  commanding  her  companion,  a  very 
homely  little  Frenchwoman,  by  turns  to 
open  or  close  a  window. 

After  dinner  the  married  couple  quar- 
rel over  several  immaterial  trifles,  which 
momentarily  interest  no  one ;  over  the  lat- 
est Russian  table  of  duties,  and  as  to 
whether  it  is  better  to  treat  scarlet  fever 
with  heat  or  with  cold.  Then  Varvara  Pav- 
lovna  busies  herself  in  her  favorite  occupa- 
tion ;  that  is  to  say,  twisting  paper  flowers. 
Natalie  took  part  in  this,  but  Maschenka,  to 
whom  they  have  confided  an  album  with 
views  of  Dresden  for  her  entertainment, 
has  uneasily  crept  about  the  room,  now 
reached  after  this  and  now  that,  has  hopped 
around  first  on  the  right,  then  on  the  left 
leg,  until  at  last  Natalie's  maid  presents 


Asbein.  297 

herself  to  ask  her  mistress  if  she  has  any- 
thing to  command  or  to  be  done,  whereupon 
Natalie  has  commissioned  her  to  take  the 
little  one  out  for  a  walk,  and  then  to  take 
her  to  the  Hotel  du  Saxe. 

Then  Sergei  read  something  aloud  from 
the  newspaper  ;  then  tea  was  brought. 

It  is  nine  o'clock.  Natalie  rises,  says 
that  she  is  tired,  and  that  she  would  like  to 
retire  early  to-night.  Sergei  asks :  "  Do 
you  wish  to  drive  ?  Shall  I  send  for  'a  car- 
riage ?  It  would  really  be  a  shame !  The 
evening  is  lovely ;  if  you  go  on  foot,  I  will 
accompany  you." 

They  go  on  foot.  "  I  do  not  know  what 
fancy  has  seized  me  to  loiter  about  a  little," 
she  says  in  the  passage,  where  Sergei  has 
remained  standing  to  light  a  cigarette. 
"Would  you  have  time?"  she  asks  her 
brother. 

"  Yes,"  replies  he,  "  I  am  very  willing  to 
walk  a  little.  Where  do  you  wish  to  go  ?  " 

"  Anywhere,  where  it  is  quiet  and  pretty, 
and  where  one  does  not  hear  this  cafe 


298  Asbein. 

chantant  music."  She  points  over  the 
Elbe,  where  from  out  a  dazzlingly  lighted 
enclosure,  frivolous  dance  measures  sound 
boldly  and  obtrusively  over  the  dreamy 
plash  of  the  waves. 

"  Come  in  the  fortress  grounds,"  says 
Sergei,  and  gives  her  his  arm.  And  sud- 
denly a  kind  of  anxiety  at  being  alone  with 
him  overcomes  Natalie.  "  Now  he  will 
question  me,"  thinks  she,  and  would  like  to 
tear  her  arm  away  from  him  and — has  not 
the  courage  to  do  it. 

They  are  quite  alone  in  the  court-yard, 
the  world-renowned  court-yard  of  the  fort- 
ress, with  its  enclosure  of  strange,  carved, 
exaggerated,  and  charming  irregular  archi- 
tecture ;  only  the  sentinel  continually  goes 
along  the  same  path,  up  and  down,  and 
above,  on  the  flat  terrace  roofs  of  the  fort- 
ress, a  couple  of  friends  are  walking.  One 
hears  them  laugh,  jest ;  yes,  even  kiss, 
standing  in  the  court  below.  They  may  be 
lovers,  or  some  couple  on  their  wedding  tour. 

The  lanterns  burn  red  and  sleepily  in  the 


Asbe'in.  299 

transparent  pale  gray  of  the  summer  half 
light,  and  the  buttons  of  the  sentinel  shine 
dully ;  all  other  light  is  extinguished  in  the 
world,  but  up  in  heaven  the  stars  slowly 
open  their  golden  eyes.  What  is  there 
down  here  to-day  for  them  to  look  at  ? 

A  thunder-storm  threatens,  but  one  does 
not  see  it  as  yet,  but  only  hears  its  hollow 
voice  growling  in  the  distance. 

Slowly  the  brother  and  sister  wander 
along  the  narrow  way  between  the  old-fash- 
ioned, regularly  laid-out  flower-beds.  The 
stony  faces  of  satyrs  and  fauns  grin  down 
upon  them  with  triumphant  cynicism.  One 
can  still  see  their  small  eyes,  slanting  up- 
ward toward  the  temples,  distinctly  in  the 
dull,  shadowless,  clear  twilight.  The  air  is 
sultry  and  close,  and  quite  immoderately 
impregnated  with  the  sad,  penetrating  per- 
fume of  weary  flowers  which  have  been  tor- 
mented by  an  over-hot  summer  day. 

"Do  you  remember  the  last  time  that  we 
walked  around  here  together?"  remarked 
Sergei,  at  length  breaking  the  silence. 


300  Asbein. 

"Yes,"  says  Natalie.  "It  was  the  year 
before  our  father's  death.  I  was  not  much 
older  than  Maschenka,  and  you  had  not 
completed  your  studies." 

"  Quite  right,  I  did  not  yet  feel  myself 
obliged  to  be  ambitious,  in  order  to  help 
raise  our  family  from  its  sunken  condition," 
said  Sergei  very  bitterly.  "  Father  had 
taken  me  with  him  during  my  vacation,  in 
order  to  cultivate  my  aesthetic  taste.  Only 
think,  Natalie,  at  that  time  I  wrote  a  poem 
on  the  Sistine  Madonna !  I !  that  is  very 
laughable,  is  it  not  ?  " 

"  You — a  poem,"  says  Natalie,  aston- 
ished, and  still  absently ;  the  affair  has  in 
reality  little  interest  for  her. 

"  Yes,  I — a  poem  !  "  repeats  Sergei.  "  I 
— now  at  that  time  I  was  an  idealist,  however 
improbable  that  may  seem  to  you  !  Now, 
now  I  am  a  machine,  who  still  sometimes 
dreams  of  having  been  a  man  !  "  He  laughs 
harshly  and  forcedly,  and  is  suddenly 
silent.  After  a  while  he  begins  again : 
"  Just  look  at  the  roses,  Natascha,"  and  he 


Asbein.  301 

points  to  the  slender  bushes  which  are  al- 
most broken  under  their  weight  of  dried 
blossoms.  "  Have  you  ever  seen  such  an 
Ash  Wednesday?  Early  this  morning  they 
were  still  fresh  !  It  is  a  pitiless  sum- 
mer." 

Natalie  lowers  her  head.  "  Now  it  is  com- 
ing," she  thinks.  "  Now  it  is  coming."  But 
no,  not  what  she  has  expected,  but  some- 
thing different,  comes. 

"Did  it  ever  occur  to  you,"  continues 
Sergei  after  a  little  while,  "  how  very  much 
a  tree  struck  by  lightning  resembles  one 
killed  by  frost?  In  the  end  it  all  tends  in 
the  same  direction."  He  is  silent.  After 
a  while  he  says,  looking  her  straight  in  the 
eyes:  "  Did  you  understand  me?" 

"  Yes,  I  understand,"  murmurs  she,  tone- 
lessly. 

"  Hm  !  it  was  plain  enough.  You  are  dy- 
ing of  heat,  I  of  cold  ! "  says  he,  and  laugh- 
ing slightly  to  himself,  he  adds  :  "  Do  you 
still  remember  how  I  lectured  you  at  that 
time  in  Rome  ?" 


3O2  Asbe'in. 

Instead  of  any  answer,  she  pulls  her  hand 
away  from  his  arm.  Compassionately  her 
brother  looks  at  her  through  the  gray  veil 
of  the  now  fast-descending  twilight.  "  Poor 
Natascha ! "  he  says.  "  You  surely  do  not 
believe  that  I  will  return  to  my  wisdom  of 
that  time — no  !  I  will  make  you  a  great 
confession ! "  His  voice  sounds  hissingly 
close  to  her  ear.  She  feels  his  breath  un- 
pleasantly hot  on  her  cheeks.  "  There  are 
moments  when  I  envy  you  !  "  he  whispers. 
"  Bah !  that  one  must  say  of  one's  self : 
it  is  over,  one  is  old,  one  will  die,  without 
once  having  been  deeply  shaken  by  a  true 
shudder  of  delight, — sans  avoir  connu  le 
grand  frisson — it  is  horrible!  I  know  what 
you  have  to  bear,  Natalie,  and  still — yes, 
there  are  moments  when  I  envy  you  !  " 

"  Who  has  then  permitted  himself  to 
assert  that  I  have  anything  to  bear?"  Na- 
talie bursts  out. 

"  Who  ? "  Sergei  raises  his  eyebrows. 
"  You  surely  do  not  fancy  that  it  is  a 
secret?"  says  he.  "  Many  wonder  that  you 


Asbei'n.  303 

endure  it ;  as  it  seems,  he  exercises  an  in- 
credible charm  over  all  women  !  " 

Her  eyes  and  his  meet  in  the  sultry  half 
darkness.  "  What  have  they  told  you  ? " 
asks  Natalie,  with  difficulty. 

But  then  he  replies  with  fearful  emphasis  : 
"  You  surely  do  not  demand  an  answer  of 
me  in  earnest  ?  " 

She  breathes  heavily.  "  It  is  not  true  ! " 
says  she.  "  They  have  lied  to  you  !  " 

Thereupon  he  remains  silent.  The  sul- 
triness becomes  ever  more  oppressive. 
Heavy  thunder-clouds  creep  slowly  and 
threateningly  over  the  roof  of  the  fortress 
and  blot  out  the  stars  from  the  heavens. 

Natalie  has  turned  away  from  her  brother, 
and  with  uneasy  haste  she  hurries  to  the 
gate  of  the  yard ;  he  comes  after  her.  "  I 
am  sorry  to  have  wounded  you,"  he  says. 
"  I  had  not  that  intention." 

She  answers  nothing ;  silently  she  walks 
along  near  him.  From  time  to  time  he 
pulls  her  gently  by  the  sleeve  and  says  : 
"  This  is  the  way."  The  stars  are  all  extin- 


304  Asbe'in. 

guished,  clouds  cover  the  whole  heaven,  and 
close  to  the  ground  sighs  a  heavy  wind 
which  cannot  yet  rise  to  a  hurricane.  What 
is  it  in  this  depressing  sound  of  nature 
which  chases  the  blood  more  rapidly  through 
her  veins? 

At  the  door  of  the  great,  many-storied 
hotel,  Natalie  wishes  to  take  leave  of  her 
brother.  "  I  will  accompany  you  to  your 
room,"  says  Sergei. 

Silently,  she  lets  him  remain  near  her. 
With  bowed  head  she  goes  up  the  broad 
staircase  to  the  first  landing ;  then  some- 
thing wakes  her  from  her  brooding  thoughts 
— the  rustling  of  a  woman's  dress.  She 
looks  up — there  goes  a  man  up  the  stairs 
to  the  second  story  with  a  heavily  veiled 
woman  on  his  arm.  She  sees  him  for  one 
moment  only ;  then  the  shadow  of  his  pro- 
file passes  quickly  over  the  wall  ;  she  turns 
away  her  head.  It  is  he — she  has  recognized 
him  !  Silently  and  with  doubled  haste  she 
follows  her  brother's  guidance.  "  Your 
room  is  No.  53,"  says  he,  and  turns  the 


Asbe'tn.  305 

door-knob  of  a  room.  The  lamp  is  lighted, 
everything  cosily  prepared  for  her  recep- 
tion. "  I  will  disturb  you  no  longer,"  says 
Sergei.  His  manner  has  become  very  stiff, 
his  voice  is  icy  cold,  and  before  he  leaves 
the  room  his  glance  seeks  a  last  time  the 
eyes  of  his  sister. 

She  is  alone.  Trembling  in  all  her  limbs, 
she  has  thrown  herself  down  on  a  sofa. 
The  maid  presents  herself  with  the  question 
whether  her  mistress  wishes  to  undress. 
Natalie  signifies  to  her  to  go  away,  to  retire 
for  the  night  to  her  room  in  an  upper  story. 
The  maid  goes,  happy  to  be  released  from 
her  service,  weary,  sleepy.  Natalie  does 
not  think  of  sleeping.  How  should  she 
think  of  it  when  she  knows  that  here,  under 
the  same  roof,  a  few  rooms  distant  from 
her —  It  is  horrible !  It  seems  to  her 
that  she  is  slowly  suffocating  in  a  close, 
oppressing  dread. 

The  lamp  burns  brightly.     As  a  maid  of 

good  form,  Lisa  has  already  unpacked  those 
20 


306  Asbein. 

little  objects  which  luxurious  women  always 
carry  about  with  them,  even  on  the  shortest 
journey,  in  order  to  make  a  hotel  residence 
cosey.  On  the  table  lies  Natalie's  portfolio  ; 
her  travelling  writing  utensils  stand  near 
by  ;  and  near  the  ink-case  two  photographs 
in  pretty  little  leather  frames — the  pictures 
of  her  husband  and  of  her  son.  Shuddering, 
she  turns  away.  She  pushes  the  hair  back 
from  her  temples.  "  Sergei  recognized  him 
also  !  "  murmurs  she  to  herself.  "  It  was 
impossible  not  to  recognize  him,"  whispers 
she,  "  and  Sergei  believes  that  I  will  still  bear 
this  also.  And  why  should  he  not  believe 
it?" 

For  years  she  has  waded  through  the 
mire  after  a  fata  morgana,  and  the  world 
laughs,  and  points  its  fingers  at  her.  What 
does  she  care  about  the  world,  if  she  can 
only  once  shake  off  the  feeling  of  boundless 
degradation  which  drags  her  down  to  the 
ground  ?  In  a  few  days  he  will  come  to  her 
with  loving  glance,  uneasily  concerned  about 
her,  with  a  thousand  anxious,  tender  words, 


Asbein.  307 

with  open  arms.  And  she — well,  she — she 
will  rush  into  those  arms,  forgive  and  forget 
everything  as  before.  Ah ! — she  springs 
up. 

A  few  moments  later  she  stands  near  the 
bed  of  her  little  daughter.  The  child  looks 
very  lovely  in  her  white  night-gown,  richly 
trimmed  with  lace  and  embroidery.  One 
of  her  hands  rests  under  her  cheek,  the 
other  is  hidden  under  the  pillow.  Formerly 
Natalie  has  come  every  night  to  the  bed  of 
the  child  in  order  to  kiss  and  bless  her,  still 
asleep.  But  to-night  her  tortured  heart  is 
capable  of  no  tender  emotion. 

"  Wake  up  !  "  she  commands,  in  a  harsh, 
strange  voice.  Maschenka  starts  up,  there- 
by involuntarily  drawing  her  hand  out  from 
under  the  pillow,  and  with  the  hand  a  little 
letter  which  she  immediately  tries  to  con- 
ceal again  from  her  mother.  But  Natalie 
tears  it  away  from  her.  "  What  have  you 
to  conceal  from  me  ?  "  she  says  to  the  little 
girl,  imperiously. 

"  I   have  only  written  to  papa ! "  replies 


308  Asbein. 

Maschenka  excusingly,  tearfully.  "  I  wrote 
him  that  you  are  sad,  and  that  he  must 
come  very  soon  because  we  will  be  so  glad 
—that  was  all." 

Natalie  tears  the  poor  little  letter  apart 
in  the  middle.  "  Dress  yourself !  "  she  or- 
ders. 

"  Is  there  a  fire  ?  "  asks  Maschenka,  fright- 
ened. 

"  No,  but  something  has  happened  ;  we 
cannot  stay  in  the  hotel ;  do  not  ask." 

Sleepy,  but  obedient,  as  a  good  child  who 
has  the  most  complete  confidence  in  her 
mother,  Maschenka  sets  about  putting  on 
the  clothes  daintily  arranged  on  a  chair 
near  her  little  bed.  Natalie  helps  her  as 
well  as  her  fingers,  trembling  with  fever, 
will  permit  her,  then  wrapping  head  and 
shoulders  in  a  lace  scarf,  she  takes  the 
child  by  the  hand  and  hurries  down  the 
stairs. 

"  Is  the  princess  going  out?"  asks  the 
porter,  who  has  not  the  heart  to  give 
the  sister  of  Prince  Assanow  another  title. 


Asbein.  309 

"  The    weather    is   very   threatening ;    shall 
I  send  for  a  carriage  ?  " 

Natalie  takes  no  notice  of  him,  pushes  by 
him  like  a  strange,  inexplicable  apparition. 

The  stars  are  all  extinguished,  clouds 
cover  the  whole  heaven,  and  close  to  the 
ground  sighs  a  weary  wind. 

What  is  it  in  this  confused,  depressing 
sound  of  nature  which  chases  the  blood 
through  her  veins?  In  the  midst  of  her 
excitement  she  hears  the  chromatic  succes- 
sion of  tones — her  breath  stops — it  is  that 
inciting,  musical  poison,  that  now  follows 
her  with  a  longing  complaint,  a  strange, 
alluring  call — Asbein. 

The  wind  rises,  screams  louder  and  more 
shrill,  its  sultry  breath  rages  so  powerfully 
against  Natalie  that  she  can  scarcely  pro- 
ceed. One,  two  great  water-drops  splash  in 
her  face,  then  more.  Pointed  hailstones 
prick  her  between  them  ;  all  drive  her  back 
— back. 

Has    not    some    one    seized    her    by    the 


310  Asbe'in. 

dress  ?  She  looks  round.  No  !  she  is  alone 
on  the  street  with  her  child  and  the  raging 
storm.  Forward  she  hastens,  panting, 
breathless.  The  way  to  Bellevue  is  quite 
easy  to  find — quite  straight  along  the  street. 
It  grows  darker  and  darker,  the  rain  falls  in 
streams,  the  clothes  hang  ever  heavier  on 
her  body,  she  can  scarcely  lift  her  feet  from 
the  paving ;  it  is  as  if  all  would  drag  her 
down  to  the  ground — all !  Twice  she  loses 
her  way,  twice  she  suddenly,  as  if  attracted 
by  an  evil  charm,  stands  before  the  Hotel 
du  Saxe. 

Maschenka  cries  silently  and  bitterly  to 
herself.  There — this  wall  ornamented  with 
black  lead,  Natalie  remembers,  and  here — 
the  large  mass  of  formless  shadow — is  not 
that  the  Catholic  church? 

A  flash  of  lightning  rends  the  darkness — 
Natalie  sees  the  immense  stairs  of  the  Briihl 
terrace,  with  its  adornments  of  colossal 
gilded  statues ;  she  sees  the  broad,  black 
river  flowing  along,  cool,  alluring ;  hastily 
she  goes  across  the  place,  for  one  moment 


Asbe'in.  311 

her  eyes  rest  on  the  stream — Maschenka 
pulls  her  by  the  arm  with  her  tender  little 
fingers,  and  whispers:  "lam  afraid,  mam- 
ma ;  I  am  afraid  !  " 

Then  Natalie  turns  away  from  the  most 
alluring  temptation  that  has  ever  met  her 
in  life,  and  the  water  ripples  behind  her  as 
if  in  anger  that  they  have  torn  away  a  sac- 
rifice from  it. 

Now  they  have  reached  the  H6tel  Belle- 
vue ;  the  phlegmatic  Hollander  in  the 
porter's  lodge  looks  after  her  in  astonish- 
ment as  she  rushes  past  him,  stretches  his 
powerful  limbs,  sticks  his  thumbs  in  the 
arm-holes  of  his  vest,  closes  his  eyes, 
sleepily,  and  murmurs,  "  These  Russian 
women  ! " 

She  finds  the  number  of  her  brother's  sit- 
ting-room. Light  still  shines  through  the 
keyhole.  She  bursts  open  the  door.  Var- 
vara  Pavlovna  is  still  busy  making  flowers. 
Sergei  sits  bent  over  a  railroad  courier,  the 
eternal  samovar  stands  on  its  small  table. 

"  What  has  happened,  Natalie,  for  God's 


312  Asbe'in. 

sake  ?  "  says  Varvara,  as  she  discovers  Na- 
talie's figure,  dripping  with  water,  her  pale, 
staring  face,  her  burning  eyes,  and  the  little 
girl  by  her  side.  "  What  has  happened?  " 

The  brother  does  not  ask. 

"  I  come  to  seek  shelter  with  you,"  mur- 
murs Natalie,  breaking  down,  as  she  sinks 
upon  a  sofa  ;  then  turning  to  Sergei,  she 
with  difficulty  gasps  out :  "  You  under- 
stand— I  could  not  stay  there — it — it  is  all 
over!" 

Yes,  it  was  all  over — all.  The  bond  be- 
tween him  and  her  was  broken.  He  was 
beside  himself  when  he  discovered  what 
had  taken  place,  begged  for  a  meeting, 
wrote  her  the  tenderest  letters.  She  left 
his  letters  unanswered. 

Then  a  wild  defiance  overcame  him. 
It  angered  him  that  she  had  placed  her- 
self under  her  brother's  protection  —  that 
brother,  who  from  the  beginning  had 
wished  to  sow  discord  between  him  and 
her.  He  also  could  not  be  persuaded  that 


Asbein.  3 1 3 

the  prince  had  not  alone  been  the  cause  of 
the  separation. 

The  circumstance  that  Natalie  travelled 
in  advance  with  her  sister-in-law  to  Baden- 
Baden,  while  Assanow  remained  in  Dresden 
to  arrange  with  Lensky,  strengthened  him 
in  his  conviction. 

It  did  not  come  to  a  legal  separation. 
Lensky  was  not  the  man  to  use  compulsion 
with  a  woman  ;  if  she  did  not  wish  to  stay 
with  him,  he  let  her  go  voluntarily.  That 
she  wished  to  keep  the  child  with  her  was 
understood  of  itself  ;  he  could  see  the  child 
from  time  to  time,  for  a  couple  of  weeks,  on 
neutral  ground.  Nikolas,  as  one  could  not 
interrupt  him  in  his  studies,  quite  naturally 
remained  with  his  father  in  St.  Petersburg. 

"All  that  is  understood  of  itself;  why 
lose  words  over  it?"  thought  Lensky  to 
himself,  while  he  quite  passively  consented 
to  all  the  propositions  of  the  diplomat. 

For  what  reason  did  the  unendurable 
man  remain  sitting  there  and  tormenting 
him? 


3 14  Asbein. 

Quite  everything  was  wound  up  between 
them — it  was  afternoon,  and  the  brothers- 
in-law  sat  opposite  each  other  at  a  long 
table  strewn  with  papers,  in  a  large,  gloomy 
room,  with  dark  green  damask  hangings, 
in  the  Hotel  du  Saxe.  A  pause  had  oc- 
curred. 

"  What  does  he  still  wish  ? "  thought 
Lensky,  and  drummed  unrestrainedly  on 
the  top  of  the  table,  while  at  the  same  time 
he  gave  a  significant  glance  toward  the  door. 

Assanow  coughed  a  couple  of  times  ;  at 
last  he  began :  "  In  conclusion,  I  must 
touch  upon  a  delicate  point — the  question 
of  money.  My  sister  formally  rejects  all 
assistance  on  your  part,  Boris  Nikolaivitch, 
and  wishes  strictly  to  limit  herself  to  live 
on  her  own  income!  " 

Then  Lensky  flew  into  a  rage:  "And 
you  have  declared  yourself  agreed  to  that?" 
he  cried,  to  his  brother-in-law. 

"  I  should  have  considered  it  undignified 
in  my  sister  if  she  had  wished  to  act  other- 
wise !  "  replied  Assanow. 


Asbein.  315 

Lensky  clutched  his  temples  with  a  ges- 
ture which  was  peculiar  to  him.  4<  Ah ! 
leave  me  in  peace  with-  your  pasteboard 
dignity,"  said  he,  impatiently.  "  I  cannot 
endure  the  word — a  parade  expression  which 
means  nothing — live  on  her  own  income — 
my  poor  luxurious  Natalie — but  that  is 
madness,  simply  not  possible !  You  are 
indeed  her  brother,  but  still  you  do  not 
know  her.  Such  a  tender,  guarded  hot- 
house plant  as  she  is  !  Why,  she  would  die 
if  she  did  not  have  what  she  needed." 

"  With  the  best  will,  I  would  not  be  able 
to  persuade  her  to  take  anything  from  you," 
replied  Sergei,  earnestly. 

"Not?"  Lensky  struck  his  clenched  fist 
on  the  table.  "  Listen,  Sergei  Alexandro- 
vitch,  you  are  not  only  pitiless,  you  are  also 
stupid.  If  she  will  not  take  anything  from 
me,  deceive  her  a  little,  tell  her  that  the 
rents  of  her  estate  have  increased,  that  you 
have  sold  building  land  for  her,  or  what  do 
I  know !  With  women  that  is  so  easy,  es- 
pecially with  her,  poor  soul ! — who  has 


316  Asbein. 

never  understood  the  difference  in  appear- 
ance between  ten  rubles  and  a  thousand — 
but  force  the  money  upon  her,  she  must 
have  it !  And  hear  me !  if  you  do  not  so 
care  for  it  that  she  takes  it,  then  I  will  make 
a  scandal  for  you,  and  insist  upon  a  legal 
exposition ! " 

For  a  moment  Assanow  was  silent,  then 
he  said  :  "  Good,  I  will  arrange  it !  "  with 
that  he  rose  and  offered  Lensky  his 
hand. 

But  Lensky  refused  it.  "  Let  that  go  ! 
Between  you  and  me  there  is  no  friendship. 
After  the  '  service '  which  you  have  ren- 
dered me  such  grimaces  are  repulsive." 

"  You  are  mistaken  if  you  believe  I  would 
have  persuaded  Natalie  to  the  separation," 
assured  the  Prince.  "  Naturally,  however, 
as  a  conscientious  man,  I  could  not  dissuade 
her  therefrom." 

"  Conscientious !  Certainly,  hangmen  are 
always  conscientious — that  one  knows," 
murmured  Lensky,  and  stamped  his  foot 
on  the  ground.  "  Well,  you  will  see  what 


Asbnn.  317 

you  have  done !     Meanwhile — go.     I    will 
not  longer  bear  it — go  !  " 

When  Assanow  hereupon  wrote  Natalie 
in  Baden  that  the  affair  was  arranged  with 
Lensky,  and  the  separation  declared  he 
added,  at  the  same  time:  "I. feel  myself 
obliged  to  say  to  you,  that  Lensky  in  this 
whole  affair  has  acted  not  only  honorably, 
but  really  nobly." 

To  his  wife  wrote  Sergei  at  the  same 
time  :  "  I  do  not  understand  the  man  ! — 
figurez-vous  that  I  myself  for  a  moment, 
was  sous  le  charme.  What  a  depth  of  no- 
bility is  in  this  prodigy !  His  is  an  enor- 
mous nature !  " 

As  long  as  the  separation  was  still  im- 
pending, as  long  as  the  conferences  still 
lasted,  a  kind  of  restless  life  fevered  in  Nata- 
lie ;  she  forced  her  being,  naturally  inclined 
to  tender  reliance  and  dependence,  to  an 
independent  strength  of  will,  of  which  no 
one  had  thought  her  capable. 


3i8  Asbe'in. 

But  when  the  last  word  was  spoken,  the 
separation  at  length  validly  arranged,  she 
fell  into  a  .condition  of  brooding  sadness 
from  which  nothing  more  could  rouse  her. 

For  still  three  years  she  lived  after  the 
separation ;  three  years,  in  which  every 
hour  endlessly  dragged  itself  along,  and 
which  flowed  together  in  the  recollection 
into  a  single  endless,  cold,  dull  day;  a  day 
in  that  northern  zone  where  the  sun,  with 
far-extending,  weak,  weary  beams,  tardily 
remains  the  whole  twenty-four  hours  long, 
standing  on  the  horizon,  and  grudges  the 
night  its  refreshing  darkness  and  the  day 
its  light. 

Her  torment  reached  an  exquisite  culmi- 
nation when  Maschenka,  who  idolized  her 
father,  and  who,  in  her  childish  innocence, 
had  no  idea  of  the  state  of  affairs,  in  the 
beginning  incessantly  and  anxiously  asked 
her  mother  little  questions  referring  to  the 
separation.  Natalie  gave  her  no  answer, 
frowned  and  turned  away  her  head.  And 
sometimes  Maschenka  then  became  ungov- 


Asbein.  319 

ernable  and  angry.  Her  little  warm,  loving 
heart  could  not  understand  why  they  had 
taken  away  her  idol. 

Once,  Lensky  asked  for  his  daughter  for 
two  weeks.  Maschenka,  with  her  English 
governess,  was  sent  to  Nice  to  her  grand- 
mother, where  Lensky  daily  visited  her. 
When,  loaded  with  presents,  her  heart  full 
of  sweet,  tender  recollections,  she  came  back 
again  to  Cannes,  where  Natalie  had  mean- 
while awaited  her,  with  fearful  obstinacy 
she  insisted  in  relating  to  Natalie  endless 
things  about  the  goodness  and  lovability  of 
the  father,  and  especially  how  impressively 
and  anxiously  he  had  inquired  after  mamma. 
Her  full,  deep  little  voice  trembled  resent- 
fully thereby,  and  an  angry  reproach  dark- 
ened her  large,  clear  child's  eyes. 

For  a  while  Natalie  was  quite  calm,  then, 
without  having  replied  a  word  to  the  child, 
she  stood  up  and  left  the  room. 

Maschenka  observed  with  astonishment 
how  she  tottered  and  hit  against  the  furni- 
ture like  a  blind  person.  Thereupon  the 


320  Asbein. 

child  remained  as  if  rooted  to  the  ground, 
with  thoughtfully  wrinkled  brow,  her  little 
hands  glued  to  her  sides,  standing,  staring 
down  at  the  carpet  as  if  she  there  sought 
the  solution  to  the  great,  sad  riddle  which 
so  occupied  her.  Then  with  a  short  mo- 
tion as  if  shaking  off  something,  which  she 
had  caught  from  her  father,  like  so  much 
else,  she  threw  her  little  head  back  and  hur- 
ried after  her  mother. 

Natalie  had  retired  to  her  bedroom. 
Maschenka  found  her  deathly  pale,  with 
helpless,  stiff  bearing,  and  hands  folded 
straight  before  her,  sitting  in  an  easy  chair ; 
her  weary  glance,  directed  in  front  of  her, 
expressed  inconsolable  despair. 

"  Little  mother,  forgive  me,  oh,  forgive 
me ! "  begged  the  child,  embracing  her 
mother  with  her  soft,  warm  arms.  "  Some- 
times it  seems  to  me  as  if  you  love  him  as 
much  as  I,  only  you  do  not  wish  to.  But 
why  do  you  cover  your  soul  with  a  veil; 
why?  Oh,  why  did  you  separate  yourself 
from  him?  He  was  not  very  much  with 


Asbein.  321 

us  without  that,  but  still  it  was  so  lovely  to 
expect  him  and  to  rejoice  over  him  from 
one  time  to  another!"  And  Maschenka 
burst  out  in  violent  weeping. 

Natalie  remained  silent,  but  she  raised 
the  child  on  her  knee  and  kissed  her,  ah, 
how  tenderly  !  Every  tear  she  kissed  away 
from  the  round  little  cheeks.  And  Ma- 
schenka never  repeated  her  question. 

Once,  in  the  night — Maschenka's  little 
room  was  next  to  her  mother's  bedroom — 
the  child  awoke  ;  from  the  adjoining  room 
sounded  soft,  whimpering,  difficultly  re- 
strained sobs. 

She  wandered  from  Venice  to  Florence, 
from  Florence  to  Nice,  from  Nice  to  Pau— 
all  the  European  cities  of  refuge  for  up- 
rooted existences  she  sought  out.  No- 
where could  Natalie  find  rest.  Sometimes 
she  tried  to  distract  herself.  She  never  vis- 
ited large  entertainments,  but  she  associated 
with  her  old  friends  if  she  met  them  in  their 

different  exiles,  gradually  slid  back  into  the 
21 


322  Asbein. 

old,  aristocratic  atmosphere  in  which  she 
had  been  brought  up  ;  but,  strange  !  she  no 
longer  felt  at  home  therein,  and  in  her  in- 
consolable misery  a  feeling  of  insensible 
ennui  mingled  itself. 

His  name  never  crossed  her  lips.  Did  she 
ever  think  of  him  ?  Day  and  night.  The 
more  she  tried  to  accustom  herself  to  other 
people  the  more  she  thought  of  him.  How 
empty,  how  shallow,  how  insignificant  were 
all  the  others  in  comparison  to  him ;  how 
cold,  how  hard ! 

Her  health  went  rapidly  downward.  A 
short,  nervous  cough  tormented  her,  her 
hands  were  now  ice-cold,  now  hot  with  fever. 
Associated  with  that  was  something  else 
strangely  tormenting:  she  almost  inces- 
santly had  the  feeling  that  her  heart  was 
torn  away  from  its  natural  place ;  she  felt  in 
her  breast  something  like  an  uneasy  flutter- 
ing, like  the  beating  of  the  wings  of  a 
deathly  weary,  sinking  bird. 

She  slept  badly  and  was  afraid  of  sleep, 
for  always  the  whole  spring  of  her  love, 


Asbe'in.  323 

with  its  entrancing  charm  and  perfume  of 
flowers,  arose  in  her  dreams  again.  Again 
vibrated  through  her  soul  the  swelling  musi- 
cal, alluring  call — Asbe'in.  Little  trifles, 
which  in  her  waking  condition  she  no  longer 
remembered,  came  to  her  mind,  and  when 
she  awoke  she  burned  with  fever  and  hid 
her  face,  gasping,  in  her  pillows.  She  con- 
sumed herself  in  longing ;  a  longing  of  which 
she  was  ashamed  as  of  a  sin,  and  which  she 
fought  as  a  sin. 

Gradually  she  became  wearier  and  more 
calm.  His  picture  began  to  obliterate  itself 
from  her  memory. 

It  was  in  Geneva,  in  a  music  shop.  Na- 
talie, who  had  gone  out  to  attend  to  a  few 
trifles,  entered  and  desired  the  Chopin 
Etudes,  which  she  had  promised  to  bring 
the  extremely  musical  Maschenka.  While 
a  clerk  looked  for  the  music,  she  observed 
an  elderly  man — she  divined  the  piano 
teacher  in  him — talking  about  a  photograph 


324  Asbein. 

which  he  held  in  his  hand,  to  the  woman 
who  managed  the  business. 

She  glanced  fleetingly  at  the  photograph 
— she  shuddered. 

"  So  that  is  he ;  that  is  the  way  he  looks 
now  !  C'est  quit  a  terriblement  changt"  said 
the  piano  teacher. 

"  Que  voulcz-vous,  with  the  existence 
which  he  leads?  "  replied  the  woman.  "  If 
one  burns  the  candle  of  life  at  both  ends !  " 

"  But  he  should  stop  it,  a  married  man, 
as  he  is,"  said  the  music  teacher. 

"  My  goodness  ;  his  marriage  is  so — so — 
he  has  been  separated,  who  knows  how 
long,  already."  The  woman  shrugged  her 
shoulders. 

"Ah!     Who,  then,  is  his  wife?" 

"  Some  great  lady  who  has  made  enough 
out  of  him,  and  to  whom  he  has  become 
inconvenient,"  replied  the  old  woman. 

"  So — h'm  !  that  explains  much,"  said  the 
musician,  and  laying  down  the  photograph, 
he  added  :  "  enfin  cest  tin  homme  fini"  With 
that  he  seized  the  roll  of  music  which  had 


Asbe'in.  325 

been  prepared  for  him  and  left  the  shop. 
Natalie  bought  the  photograph,  without 
having  the  courage  to  look  at  it  before 
strangers.  Arrived  at  home,  she  unwrapped 
the  portrait.  For  the  first  time  since  that 
evening  when  she  ran  out  of  the  Hotel  du 
Saxe  she  looked  at  a  picture  of  him.  She 
was  frightened  at  the  fearful  physical  dete- 
rioration designated  in  his  features.  Around 
the  mouth  and  under  the  eyes  hateful  lines 
were  drawn  ;  but  from  the  eyes  still  spoke 
the  deep,  seeking  glance  as  formerly,  and 
on  the  lips  lay  an  expression  of  inconsolable 
goodness.  "  A  great  lady  who  has  made 
enough  out  of  him,  and  to  whom  he  has 
become  inconvenient,"  Natalie  repeated  to 
herself  again  and  again.  That  truly  was 
false  from  beginning  to  end.  Still,  a  great 
uneasiness  overcame  her.  The  reproofs 
which  she  believed  she  had  expiated  once 
for  all  by  the  easy,  tender  confession  that 
she  had  set  aside  her  beloved  husband  on 
account  of  her  scruples,  now  rose  sharply 
and  reprovingly  before  her. 


326  Asbc'in. 

A  nervous  condition,  which  culminated 
in  a  long-enduring  cramp  of  the  heart,  befell 
her;  the  cramp  was  followed  by  an  hour- 
long  swoon  which  could  not  be  lifted. 
•  When  she  could  again  leave  her  bed,  a 
great  change  had  taken  place  in  her.  She 
no  longer  evaded  the  recollection  of  Lensky ; 
the  old  love  was  dead,  but  a  new  love  had 
risen  from  the  ruins  of  the  old,  a  new  en- 
lightened love,  which  was  nothing  more  than 
a  warm,  compassionate  pardon. 

With  the  restlessness  of  those  mortally 
ill,  who  in  vain  seek  relief,  she  was  again 
driven  to  leave  Geneva,  where  at  first  she 
had  intended  to  pass  the  whole  winter. 
She  longed  for  Rome. 

The  physicians  laid  no  difficulties  in  the 
way.  In  the  end,  a  dying  person  has  the 
right  to  seek  out  the  place  where  she  will 
lay  down  her  weary  head  for  the  last  time. 

In  Rome,  it  seemed  at  first  as  if  she 
would  be  better  again.  At  the  end  of 


Asbem.  327 

March,  Nikolas  came  to  visit  her.  He  was 
now  a  young  man,  tall,  slender,  with  great 
dreamy  eyes  in  an  aristocratically  cut  face, 
and  with  pretty,  still  somewhat  embarrassed 
manners. 

Already  he  had  twice  come  to  foreign 
countries  to  visit  his  mother,  but  never  had 
she  been  so  glad  to  see  him. 

As  the  day  was  beautiful,  and  she  felt 
better  than  usual,  she  proposed  a  drive. 
"  To  the  Via  Giulia,"  she  ordered  the  coach- 
man. "  I  will  show  you  the  Palazzo  Mor- 
sini,  in  which  we  lived  when  your  father 
was  betrothed  to  me,"  she  said  to  her  chil- 
dren. Mascha  looked  at  her  mother  in 
astonishment ;  it  was  the  first  time  in  quite 
three  years  that  she  had  mentioned  her 
father  before  her. 

So  they  drove  in  the  Via  Giulia,  on  a 
bright  March  afternoon  they  drove  there. 
But  Natalie  in  vain  sought  the  Palazzo 
Morsini;  she  did  not  find  it.  A  pile  of  rub- 
bish stood  in  its  place,  surrounded  by  a 
board  fence.  Disappointed  almost  to  tears, 


328  Asbe'in. 

with  that  childish,  foolish  disappointment 
such  as  only  those  mortally  ill  know,  she 
turned  away.  On  the  way,  it  occurred  to 
her  to  order  the  coachman  to  stop  at  the 
Trevi  fountain.  She  quite  started  with 
delight  when  she  saw  the  irregular  collec- 
tion of  statues  again.  "  Here  I  met  your 
father  for  the  first  time  in  Rome  ;  it  is  just 
twenty  years  ago,"  said  she,  and  rested 
a  strange,  brilliant,  dreamy  glance  on  the 
old  wall.  The  sculpturing  was  still  blacker 
and  more  weather-worn  than  twenty  years 
before,  but  the  silver  cascade  rushed  down 
more  arrogantly  than  ever  in  the  gray  stone 
basin,  and  the  sky,  which  arched  over  the 
time-blackened  walls,  was  as  blue  as  for- 
merly. "  Ah,  how  much  beauty,  nobility, 
and  immortality  there  still  is  in  the  world^ 
together  with  the  bad  that  passes  away," 
murmured  Natalie,  softly  ;  then  passing  her 
hand  over  her  eyes,  and  as  if  speaking  to 
herself,  she  added  :  "  It  is  thus  with  great 
men,  and  therefore  I  think,  considerately 
overlooking  their  earthly  failings,  one 


Asbe'in.  329 

should  rejoice  over  that  which  is  immortal 
in  them  ! " 

Maschenka  had  not  quite  understood 
the  words,  but  Nikolas  sought  by  a  glance 
the  eyes  of  his  mother,  and  raised  her  hand 
to  his  lips. 

It  was  evening  of  the  same  day,  in  Nata- 
lie's pretty  apartment  on  the  Piazza  di 
Spagna,  opposite  the  church  of  Trinita  dei 
Monti,  and  the  sick  woman,  relieved  of  her 
constricting  and  heavy  street-clothes,  lay,  in 
a  white,  lace-trimmed  wrapper,  on  a  lounge. 
Mother  and  son  were  alone.  He  had  read 
her  a  couple  of  verses  from  Musset,  which 
she  particularly  loved — les  souvenirs — but  it 
had  become  dark  during  the  reading ;  he 
laid  the  book  away.  For  a  while  they  were 
both  quiet,  silently  happy  in  each  other's 
presence,  as  very  nearly  related  people  when 
they  are  together  after  a  long  separation  ; 
but  then  Nikolas  laid  his  hand  on  that  of 
his  mother  and  said,  softly :  "  Little  mother 
— do  you  know  that  it  was  really  papa  who 
sent  me  to  you  ?" 


33O  Asbe'in. 

The  hand  of  the  mother  trembles,  and 
softly  draws  itself  out  from  under  the  son's. 
Nikolas  is  silent.  But  what  was  that  ? 
After  a  while  his  mother's  hand  voluntarily 
stole  back  into  his,  and  the  young  man  con- 
tinued:  "Yes,  papa  sent  me  here,  so  that  I 
might  accurately  report  to  him  how  you 
are.  You  really  cannot  imagine  how  he 
always  asks  after  you,  worries  about  you." 

The  hand  of  the  poor  woman  trembles  in 
that  of  her  son,  like  an  aspen  leaf.  After  a 
pause,  quite  as  if  he  had  waited  so  that  his 
words  might  sink  warmly  and  deeply  into 
her  heart,  he  continues :  "  Father  com- 
missioned me  to  bring  before  you  a  request 
from  him — namely,  whether  you  would  not 
permit  him  to  visit  you  ?" 

Again  Natalie  drew  her  hand  away  from 
her  son,  but  more  hastily  than  the  first  time. 
Her  breath  comes  quickly  and  pantingly, 
for  a  few  moments  she  remains  silent,  then 
she  says  slowly,  wearily:  "No!  it  must 
not  be;  tell  him  all  love  and  kindness  from 
me,  and  that  I  think  only  with  emotion  of 


Asbe'in.  331 

the  great  consideration  which  he  always 
shows  me,  but  it  must  not  be — it  is  better 
so! " 

After  she  had  made  this  decision,  which 
had  a  sad  and  intimidating  effect  upon  the 
inexperienced  boy,  she  remained  for  the 
rest  of  the  evening  taciturn  and  with  that, 
out  of  temper  and  irritable,  as  one  had 
never  formerly  seen  her. 

In  the  night  she  had  one  of  her  fearful 
attacks ;  the  doctor  must  be  sent  for. 
When  the  horrible  oppression  of  breath  and 
shuddering  had  subsided,  as  usual,  she  fell 
into  a  condition  of  pale,  cold  numbness, 
which  resembled  a  deep  swoon. 

Nikolas,  who  had  watched  by  the  sick 
one,  accompanied  the  physician  without. 
He  begged  him,  in  the  name  of  his  father, 
to  tell  him  the  truth  about  the  condition  of 
the  sufferer.  The  physician  told  him  that 
her  condition  was  very  serious,  and  a  re- 
covery absolutely  out  of  the  question.  It 
might  last  a  few  weeks  still,  perhaps  only  a 
few  days. 


332  Asbein, 

When  Nikolas,  with  difficulty  restraining 
his  tears,  came  up  to  his  mother's  bed,  she 
lay  exactly  in  the  same  position  as  when  he 
left  the  room ;  still,  something  about  her 
had  changed.  Her  eyes  were  closed,  but 
around  her  beautiful  mouth  trembled  a 
smile  whose  happy  loveliness  he  never  for- 
got. 

After  a  while  she  looked  up  and  said  in  a 
quite  weak  voice :  "  Perhaps  only  a  few 
days" — she  had  heard  the  doctor's  speech. 
After  a  pause,  she  added :  "  Write  your 
father — write — he  must  hurry — only  a  few 
more  days ! " 

Nikolas  telegraphed  to  St.  Petersburg. 

The  consciousness  of  her  near  death  had 
given  her  back  her  lack  of  embarrassment 
toward  Lensky.  She  insisted  that  he  should 
stay  in  her  house,  that  they  should  prepare 
a  room  for  him. 

One  day  she  was  well  enough  to  overlook 
the  preparations  herself.  But  the  improve- 
ment did  not  last.  Quite  every  night  came 


Asbe'in.  333 

on  an  attack,  shorter  and  weaker,  but  still 
very  painful ;  in  between  she  slept,  and 
always  had  the  same  dream.  It  seemed  to 
her  as  if  she  could  fly,  but  only  about  two 
feet  from  the  ground;  if  she  wished  to  rise 
higher,  she  awoke.  Of  the  young  happi- 
ness of  her  love,  she  dreamed  never  more. 

Lensky  had  telegraphed  back  that  he 
would  set  out  immediately.  They  counted 
the  days  and  nights  which  must  elapse  be- 
fore his  arrival — Kolia  and  she ;  they  con- 
sulted railroad  time-tables  together — so 
long  to  Eydtkuhnen — so  long  to  Berlin — 
so  long  to  Vienna — so  long  to  Rome. 
They  were  twelve  hours  apart  in  their  reck- 
oning. Natalie  expected  Lensky  already 
on  the  morning  of  the  fifth  day,  Nikolas 
not  until  the  evening. 

On  the  fourth  day  she  was  so  well  that 
she  wished  to  undertake  a  walk.  "  I  would 
so  like  to  see  the  spring  once  more,"  said  she. 

Nikolas  begged  her  to  save  herself  until 
his  father  had  come,  in  order  not  to  aggra- 


334  Asbe'in. 

vate  her  heart  by  excitement — that  great, 
rich  heart  through  which  she  lived,  and  of 
which  she  was  now  dying.  "  We  will  bring 
the  spring  in  to  you,"  said  he  tenderly. 

They  brought  flowers,  whatever  kind 
they  could  buy,  and  placed  them  in  the 
pretty,  pleasant  boudoir  in  which  she  lay, 
stretched  out  on  her  couch  bed.  "The  broad 
sunbeams  slid  like  a  golden  veil  over  the 
magnolias,  violets,  and  roses. 

Dreamily  the  dying  woman  let  her  eyes 
wander  over  the  fragrant  splendor.  "  How 
lovely  the  spring  is  !  "  murmured  she,  and 
then  she  added :  "  How  can  one  fear  to 
die,  when  the  resurrection  is  so  beautiful !  " 
The  windows  stood  wide  open  ;  it  was  after- 
noon ;  from  without  one  heard  the  rattling 
of  carriages  which  rolled  along  in  the  heart 
of  the  city. 

It  sounded  like  the  rolling  of  a  stream 
which  forced  its  way  to  the  sea. 

The  night  came.  Nikolas  sat  near  his 
mother's  bed  and  watched.  She  slept  un- 


Asbe'in.  335 

easily.  Frequently  she  started  and  listened, 
then  she  looked  at  her  watch — it  could  not 
yet  be  !  Once  Maschenka  came  in,  with 
little  bare  feet  peeping  out  from  under  her 
long  night-dress,  and  face  quite  swollen  with 
weeping.  On  tip-toes  she  crept  up  to  the 
dying  woman's  bed.  Since  a  couple  of  days 
Natalie  had  no  longer  permitted  her  to  sleep 
in  the  adjoining  little  room,  from  fear  that 
the  child  might  be  awakened  by  her  painful 
attacks.  Maschenka  had  dreamed  that  her 
mother  was  worse  ;  she  wished  to  see  her 
mother.  Natalie  opened  her  eyes  just  as 
she  entered. 

Then  the  child  ran  up  to  her,  kneeled  down 
near  her,  and  sobbing  hid  her  little  face  in 
the  covers.  Natalie  stroked  her  little  head 
with  weary,  weak  hand,  and  asked  her  to  be 
brave,  and  lie  down  and  sleep  ;  that  would 
give  her  the  greatest  joy. 

Then  Maschenka  stood  up,  and  went 
with  hesitating  steps  as  far  as  the  door ; 
then  she  turned  round,  and  hurried  back 
to  her  mother.  Natalie  made  the  sign 


336  Asbein. 

of  the  cross  on  her  forehead,  then  kissed 
her  once  more,  and  held  her  to  her  thin 
breast.  It  should  be  the  last  time — the 
child  went. 

Natalie  looked  after  her  tenderly,  sadly. 

Toward  morning  Nikolas  fell  asleep  in 
the  arm-chair  in  which  he  watched  by  his 
mother's  bed.  All  at  once  he  felt  that  some 
one  pulled  him  by  both  sleeves.  He  started 
up  ;  his  mother  sat  half  upright  in  the  bed. 

"  Wake  up,  your  father  is  coming  !  "  she 
called  quickly  and  breathlessly. 

"  But,  little  mother,  it  is  quite  impossible 
— not  before  evening  can  he  be  here." 

With  a  short,  imperious  motion  she  ad- 
monished him  to  silence.  Now  he  heard 
quite  plainly — softly,  then  louder — the  roll- 
ing of  a  single  carriage  through  the  deathly- 
quiet,  sleeping  city.  It  came  nearer — 
stopped  before  the  house. 

"Go  to  meet  him,  Kolia;  I  do  not  wish 
him  to  think  we  did  not  expect  him." 

Kolia  went,  did,  like  a  machine,  whatever 
was  required  of  him.  Natalie  sat  up,  list- 


Asbein.  337 

ened — listened.  If  she  had  been  mistaken 
— no.  Heavy  steps  came  up  the  stairs. 
Steps  of  two  men — not  of  one — and  this 
voice !  rough,  deep,  going  to  the  heart. 
She  did  not  understand  a  word ;  but  it  was 
his  voice. 

A  quite  numbing  embarrassment  and 
shyness  overcame  her.  She  drew  the  lace 
cuffs  of  her  night-dress  over  her  thin  arms, 
she  arranged  her  hair ;  she  felt  as  shy  as  be- 
fore a  stranger.  What  should  she  say  to 
him?  She  would  be  quite  calm — calm  and 
friendly.  Then  the  door  opened — he  en- 
tered, dusty,  with  tumbled,  badly  arranged 
gray  hair,  with  fearful  furrows  in  his  face, 
aged  ten  years  since  she  last  had  seen  him. 

What  should  she  say  to  him  ? 

He  did  not  wait  for  that ;  he  only  gave 
one  look  at  her  pale  face,  then  he  hurried 
up  to  her  and  took  her  in  his  arms. 

Behind  the  church  of  Trinita  dei  Monti 
there  was  already  a  golden  light,  and  the 
whole  room  was  filled  with  brilliancy  and 
light. 


338  Asbein. 

"  Oh,  my  angel !  how  could  you  so  repulse 
me !  "  are  the  first  words  which  he  speaks. 

She  says  nothing,  only  lies  on  his  breast, 
silently,  unresistingly.  Through  her  veins 
creeps  for  the  last  time  the  feeling  of  pleas- 
ant, animating  warmth  which  has  always 
overcome  her  in  his  nearness.  She  tries  to 
rouse  herself,  to  consider ;  she  had  certainly 
wished  to  tell  him  something  for  farewell. 
But  what  was  it — what 

Ah,  truly ! 

"  Boris,"  she  breathes  out  softly,  "  do  you 
know — at  that  time  in  your  study — in  Pe- 
tersburg— do  you  still  remember  how  you 
once  said  to  me  I  should  show  you  the  way 
to  the  stars?" 

"  Yes,  my  little  dove,  yes." 

"  I  was  not  fitted  for  my  task,"  whispers 
she,  sadly  ;  "  forgive !  " 

For  one  moment  he  remains  speechless 
with  emotion  ;  then  he  presses  his  lips  to 
her  mouth,  on  her  poor  emaciated  hands, 
on  her  hair. 

"  Forgive — I  you  !     O  my  heart !  "  mur- 


Asbein.  339 

murs  he.  "  How  could  you  draw  me  up 
when  I  had  broken  your  wings !  But  now 
all  is  well ;  we  will  seek  our  old  happiness 
hand  in  hand.  You  shall  become  well,  shall 
live ! " 

"  Live,"  whispers  she,  quite  reproach- 
fully ;  "  live,"  and  shakes  her  head. 

He  looks  at  her  with  a  long,  tender 
glance,  and  is  frightened. 

Her  face  is  still  angel  beautiful,  but  there 
is  nothing  left  of  her  lovely  form.  It  pains 
him  to  see  the  sharp,  harsh  lines  which  out- 
line her  limbs  under  the  covering.  That  is 
no  longer  a  living  woman  who  stretches  out 
her  arms  to  him,  it  is  only  an  angel  who 
wishes  to  bless  him.  It  is  quite  clear  be- 
tween them,  and  also  the  last  shyness, 
which  still  held  her  back  from  him,  has 
vanished. 

"  Yes,  it  is  over,"  whispers  she  ;  "  only  a 
few  more  days — how  many  is  that  ? — three 
days — five  days — oh,  perhaps  it  will  last 
longer — physicians  are  so  often  mistaken. 
We  will  drive  out  once  more  together  to 


340  Asbe'in. 

see  the  spring — out  there  where  the  almond 
trees  bloom  between  the  ruins — by  St. 
Steven,  do  you  still  know  ? — and  until  I  feel 
it  coming — the  last,  the  end — then  you  will 
hold  me  by  the  hand,  will  you  not  ?  like  a 
child  that  fears  the  dark,  you  will  lead  me 
quite  tenderly  up  to  the  threshold  of  eter- 
nity— is  it  not  true?  No  one  can  be  so 
tender  and  loving  as  you.  But  do  not  be 
sad — not  now ;  to-day  I  feel  well,  quite 
well.  Ah  ! " 

What  is  that?  She  clutches  at  her  heart 
— there  it  is  again,  the  strange  fluttering 
feeling  in  her  heart.  Her  face  changes,  her 
breath  fails. 

"  The  doctor,  Kolia  !  "  calls  Boris  beside 
himself. 

Kolia  hurries  away ;  at  the  door  his 
mother  calls  him  back  once  more. 

"  Not  without  a  farewell,  my  brave  boy," 
she  says,  and  kisses  him.  "  God  bless  you  !  " 

Then  he  rushes  away  down  the  stairs,  to 
fetch  the  doctor — there  is  haste. 

No,  there  is  no  more  haste — the  attack  is 


Asbcin.  341 

short — only  a  couple  of  strange  shudders — 
then  the  invalid  grows  calm  in  Lensky's 
arms. 

"  How  wonderfully  the  trees  bloom —  " 
murmurs  the  dying  one.  "  It  grows  dark 
— give  me  your  hand — do  not  grieve — my 
poor  Genius " 

Suddenly  her  eyes  take  on  a  peculiarly 
longing  expression.  A  last  time  the  Asbein 
tones  glide  through  her  soul,  but  no  longer 
an  inciting,  alluring  call — but  as  something 
elevating,  holy.  She  hears  the  tones  quite 
high  and  distinct,  as  if  they  vibrated  down 
to  her  from  Heaven,  resounding  strangely 
in  a  sublime,  calm  harmony  that  is  no  longer 
the  devil's  succession  of  tones,  that  is  the 
music  of  the  spheres. 

"  Boris,"  she  murmurs,  and  raising  her 
hand,  points  upward,  "  listen  .  .  ." 

The  hand  sinks  slowly,  slowly — when,  a 
little  later,  the  physician  enters  she  is  dead. 
A  wonderful  smile  lies  on  her  countenance, 
the  smile  of  one  set  free. 


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